Rainbow Magic
by The Reviews Lounge
Summary: [William Wordsworth: My heart leaps up when I behold, a rainbow in the sky] This is a Reviews Lounge forum project, consisting of oneshots, each by a different author about a different character, all inspired by the word rainbow. Please R&R.
1. James Potter

**Disclaimer****: All characters, settings and anything else recognizable from Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling, and we make no claim on her ideas.**

**A/N: 'I can sing a rainbow' is a traditional children's song. It is not mine.**

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** 1. James Potter**

A rainbow will always follow the rain. That's what Mum taught me. I would have been about six at the time, I think. She said that one would always be there, after the rain, just floating in the sky below the clouds, even if I couldn't see it. Mum told me, that even if I couldn't see a rainbow, someone else would be able to.

Sometimes it feels like it has been raining for years, but then I suppose that I couldn't have expected anything less from growing up. Not that rain is a bad thing. In fact, I love the rain. I love to stand outside, and turn my face up to the clouds, and watch as a billion little droplets fall down to earth around me. Mind you, that only works when I remember to _impervious_ my glasses. Otherwise, I am inevitably left staring at water droplets.

Like I said, the rain doesn't bother me in the slightest. What worries me is when the clouds are dark and threatening, and the world is cast into shadow. It seems ominous and terrible, and even though those dark, threatening clouds rarely amass to much, there is enough dark in the world, enough growing threat, enough violence without the rain becoming like that, too.

My favourite sort of rain is a sun-shower. That's probably because I can enjoy the rain and admire the rainbow, all at once. It's my personal equivalent of Sirius getting his cake and eating it too. Remus says that rainbows are traditionally a symbol of hope and rebirth, after the cleansing process of the rain.

I think the world needs more rainbows.

Once, Sirius and I made it rain in the Gryffindor common room. Unfortunately, the heaviest downpour seemed to be right over Lily's head. It turned her glorious hair a dark auburn, and she glared at us with those brilliant eyes of hers'. That day, there was no rainbow – not that I could see, anyway. Luckily, she eventually forgave me.

Lily doesn't understand why rainbows fascinate me so much. But they've always been a talking point between us: her, the skeptic, and I, the believer. Once, though, Lily was a believer too. I can remember in third year after she discovered leprechauns were real, Lily had asked Professor Flitwick if they really did keep their gold at the end of rainbows. Flitwick had pulled the strangest face I'd ever seen on him, and he had gently and politely asked her what she was talking about. I think that the leprechaun's gold is a Muggle thing, somehow. Nevertheless, I think that was the day that Lily stopped being a believer, somehow. And every rainbow since has been a little duller for it.

Definitely my favourite memory is of seventh year – Lily and I had been sitting out in the grounds, discussing something to go with our Head's duties, when we were caught in a sudden shower. We took shelter under the Quidditch stands, and I can remember staring out across the grounds when a rainbow appeared behind her head, as if she were my pot of gold. Naturally, I kissed her. I think it gave her quite a shock, and she was terribly confused when I explained that I'd done it because of the rainbow.  
"James, you _do_ know that rainbows are only sunlight reflected in tiny little water droplets, don't you?"  
I forgave her for that, because she was Muggle-born, and Muggles seem to have a compulsive need to produce an explanation for everything.  
"Can you prove it?"  
Lily had opened and closed her mouth, thrown by my response, before she frowned and nodded.  
"Well – _yes_." As if it were obvious. And then, she had shown me.

_Lily Evans made me a rainbow._

That's when I decided I was probably falling for her, in a serious way.

When Harry was very small, I can remember hearing Lily sing to him at night. Her soft voice carried through the house, and I was drawn to them, cuddling in the little room we had set up as Harry's nursery. I leant in the doorway and watched my wife, her glorious red hair trailing down the back of her night gown as she cradled the small bundle of blankets.   
"Red and yellow and pink and green, purple and orange and blue! I can sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow too…"   
"That's pretty."   
She had jumped as I spoke, and she turned to me. Although she was frowning, her eyes were shining with laughter.   
"You would say that, wouldn't you, James Potter?"   
I shrugged, grinning as I advanced into the room. Harry was, by now, sleeping soundly in his mother's arms. I gently lifted him from her, and placed him in his cot.   
"I've never heard that song before."   
"It's a Muggle children's song. I learned it when I was a little girl. I loved it."   
"_I_ love it. I love you, too, even though I can't believe you never taught it to me! You never told me you could sing so well."   
By this stage I had wrapped my arms around her, and she laughed into my hair, embarrassed. "I can't."   
As I listened to her fall asleep, my arm curved around her body, and her head nestled on my chest, I could have sworn I heard her murmur.   
_"I can sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow too…"_

I haven't seen a rainbow in months. Not since we went into hiding, in fact. Just before we did, Lily and I took Harry on a picnic, and he saw _his_ first rainbow. As luck would have it, it had been one of the most vivid I had ever seen, bright colours curving gracefully across the sky. It seemed quite close – as though we could follow it, and find its end a few meadows over. Harry's eyes, so like Lily's that it sometimes scares me, had lit up in his chubby little face, and he clapped his hands with all the delight a one-year-old can muster.

Which is a _lot_ of delight.

Lily had watched him, laughing with him as he gazed up at the sky in awe.  
"He's just like you, James. Absolutely enchanted."  
As she had said it, she had looked up and met my eyes. The rainbow had been reflected in those laughing eyes, so bright and vivid that I fell in love with her all over again.

I've always been fascinated with rainbows. Somehow, inexplicably, they feature in my most treasured memories. And I don't care that Lily teases me, and insults my manhood by calling it adorable; nor do I mind that Sirius accuses me of going soft.

To me, rainbows have always been my favourite kind of magic.

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By Lexie-H

**

**A/N****: This is going to be a collaborative piece written by the members of the Reviews Lounge. Every "chapter" is about a different character, and written by a different author. It is quite likely that individually, these stories may also be posted by the authors who have contributed them. **

**The theme, as you have probably gathered, is "rainbow". **

**If anyone is interested in joining this project, jump onto the Reviews Lounge forum and choose a character! You can find all the details there. Thanks for reading, reviews are deeply appreciated, and they will be forwarded to the appropriate author!**

**- Lexie**


	2. Luna Lovegood

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Seeing sounds as colors is not something I made up. It is an actual neurological disorder known as synesthesia. People with synesthesia experience two senses at once. Sounds as colors is one of the rarer manifestations, but it does exist, and that's what I've given Luna's mother.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Luna Lovegood. She is the property of JK Rowling and the Harry Potter Universe.**

**This story is free from Deathly Hallows spoilers.**

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**2. Luna Lovegood**

**Hearing the Rainbow**

I have always thought it would be the most wonderful thing in the world to be able to see sounds. My mother could do it, and ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be able to do the same. I wanted to be able to see sounds, to listen to music or voices or any other sound in the world in a swirl of color just like Mummy.

I don't remember how old I was when I discovered that not all adult wizards and witches could see sounds. Though I was disappointed that I wouldn't necessarily grow into it, in my mind, it just made my mother into an even more extraordinary witch.

Long before my legs were long enough to reach the floor, I would sit on one of the tall stools in my mother's workshop while she experimented. She had the strangest collection of objects hung all over her workshop. It looked like what I'd imagine a Scraptoner's nest to look like. Every day, she'd bring in new objects, levitate them, and have me tap them lightly with a crystal scepter. Then she'd tap her notebook with her wand until a small square next to the object's label bore the color of its sound. Then she'd conjure a ribbon of a close match, and it was my job to hang the new object where she directed, in a circle all the way around her workshop.

When I was seven, I asked her if she was trying to collect the rainbow. She held me close and laughed. "No, love," she told me. "Not collect it. I'm trying to unlock it. Now talk to me, love!"

And I would. I would make up songs for her, tell her of all the creatures my father was studying, talk about the flowers I'd found in the woods that day. And she would watch me as I spoke, though she never did tell me why.

My father called me his Moon-child, and on days when my mother was particularly busy, he would take me out and show me all the wonderful creatures he was studying. He would point out where Plimpies had been and show me evidence of a Wrackspurt or a Nargle. When I was very young, I foolishly asked him if they were real.

"Of course they are!" he said, sounding shocked that I would ask. "Why, they're as real as you or me! Just because they don't show themselves often, there are any number of wizards prepared to claim they're all make believe! But they're not," he whispered to me, kneeling beside me. "Luna, love," he said quietly, "Don't you ever let anyone tell you that _anything's _not real. If you have to see something with your own two eyes to believe it's real, then you're going to miss half of life's wonders!"

Satisfied with that answer as only a four-year-old can be, and believing that my father could no more lie than a Crumple Horned Snorkack could grow wings and fly, I never questioned him again. I would spend my days as a child helping my father chase Snorkacks and Skitnies, and I would spend my evenings helping my mother chase the rainbow. It was always quite enjoyable and I was never happier in my life.

I worked closer and closer with my mother, believing without question or pause that the minute she found the key to unlocking the rainbow, I would be able to see what she could see.

By the time I was nine, I knew her workshop as well as she did, though I didn't understand what it all meant or what she was really trying to do when she said she wanted to unlock the rainbow or why my picture hung in the very center of that color wheel that her workshop had become. I had asked her, but she wouldn't tell me. She became more and more distant, more and more distracted, and Daddy and I saw less and less of her.

Daddy seemed to understand more than I did. And he seemed very sad about it, for some reason. Even showing him the necklace I'd made for mother from Trapdabbles that grew in our garden did very little to brighten his spirits. For a long while, I feared a Wrackspurt attack, but Daddy smiled sadly when I suggested it and patted me on the head.

"No, Luna love, it's not Wrackspurts."

"Then what is it, Daddy?" I asked him. He sighed.

"Oh, my Moon girl, nothing I could ask you to understand."

"But I'm very bright!" I assured him. "Yesterday, I caught a Plimpie all by myself! If I can understand how to catch a Plimpie and track a Skitnie through half a mile of woods, why can't I understand what's happening with Mummy?" I asked.

He held me close then, in a one-armed hug. "Oh, Luna, my dear girl. It is hard to explain. Your mother has been chasing her rainbow for so long . . . it is consuming her being. She can think of nothing else."

"Then she is sure to succeed," I said, thinking him rather silly to be so worried over so simple a thing. Hadn't my parents always told me that the hardest work brings the greatest rewards? "Shall I bring her her tea?" With a said smile, he nodded, so I took the tray and went out to her workshop.

"Mummy?" I called out, but the door was closed, and though I could hear my mother inside, she did not answer me. Gently, I pushed the door open. "Mummy?" I called again.

"I don't understand," she was saying, frantically searching through her journal, snatching at the ribbons hanging from the rafters. "The crystal sounds in three hues . . . and phoenix song in all the colors of fire . . . but the rainbow . . . what makes the rainbow?"

"Mummy?" I asked, working up the courage to step into the room. She was pacing back and forth in the center of the color wheel, muttering wildly. For the first time in my life, I was frightened.

"I must know – I must! . . . Luna . . . the rainbow is in her . . . but how? How?"

"Mother?" I said again, my voice smaller. Still she did not hear me.

"It cannot be just the purity of sound, or the crystal and song would show true . . . there must be more, but what? _What_?"

"Mummy, I've brought tea," I said, louder.

"I hear it!" she cried. "I see it! I must know!" And with one, sweeping motion, she raised her wand high above her head in both hands and shouted a word I could not understand and did not know.

I screamed, dropping the tray and falling to the ground, my hands thrown up to protect my head from the debris that hurtled down from all around me. But even more horrifying than the shower of broken artifacts and shredded ribbon was the sight of my mother, encased in fire-like light, crumpling to the ground.

"Mummy!" I shrieked, and ran to her. She was lying on the floor, badly burned, staring up at the one item that had not fallen from the rafters – my picture and the rainbow ribbon on which it hung.

"Luna . . ." she whispered, and I knelt beside her, sobbing.

"Mummy, you must be all right!" I said. She shook her head.

"No . . . my love . . ." she said. "I have seen . . . and I must die."

"_No_!" I screamed. "You cannot die! You cannot! I won't believe it!"

"No," she said, her grip suddenly tight as death on my arm. "Do not say that, Luna. Never say that."

"I won't believe in _anything_ if you die," I whispered harshly through my tears. Her grip on my arm tightened.

"No! You mustn't lose it!" she whispered frantically, looking wildly up at me. "The rainbow . . . it only appears when every possibility is present! To not believe is to lose the rainbow! Luna! _You must never lose the rainbow_!" The last was hissed in pain and urgency.

"How?" I whispered helplessly, lost, tears streaming down my face. "How can I, without you?" She smiled weakly up and me and relaxed against me.

"Believe," she murmured, eyes closing. "Believe that this is not the end . . . believe that you will see me again . . . believe that you can still hear my voice . . . you must believe in every possibility, Luna . . . if you do that . . . the rainbow will never fade from your voice . . . if you believe in everything, you can never be brought down . . . read my journal . . . it's all in my journal . . . I have always loved listening to you speak . . . it's the only time I have ever . . . heard the rainbow . . . speak for me, love . . . speak . . ."

"I love you, Mummy," I whispered through tears. "And I promise you that I will always believe."

And with a look of serene peace on her face, she died.

At the moment of her death, the rainbow ribbon that held my picture shattered, falling around us like pixie dust.

I have never forgotten my mother's death, nor the promise that I made to her. I poured over her journal for weeks after she died, learning everything she had known, everything she had been trying to find. Since the day she died, I have added my own research to it. Maybe one day, I can find the spell that failed her. Maybe one day, I'll be able to help people see what she could, to show them the sound of my voice in a streams of colors. I know what people call me and I know what they say about me and the things I believe in. But I made a promise to believe in everything, and so I also believe in them, and I find it's not so hard that way.

When I speak, I speak of possibilities. And when others speak, I listen, and I know that everything they say might yet be true. And so, they call me Loony and think me crazy. And I believe it may be true. But I also believe that I am not wrong. I am not wrong to believe what I believe.

Someday I will catch a Crumple Horned Snorkack. Someday I will have friends who will not think I am strange. Someday I will know a world without fighting. Someday I will see my mother again.

Someday I will hear the rainbow.

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By Realmer06 


	3. Lily Evans

**Disclaimer****: All characters, settings and anything else recognizable from Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling, and we make no claim on her ideas.**

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3. Lily Evans

Well, this is it. My last day at Hogwarts. Graduation. After this, it's off into the real world I go, where who-knows-what awaits me. For years it seemed as though this day would never come, and there were many times when I wished for it in vain. Whenever James pulled a particularly nasty prank, or whenever Severus and I had a row, all I wanted was to be 18, and to be heading off from the castle for good.

Now, however, I have no idea what I could ever have been thinking. The plain and simple truth is that I'm scared. I'm scared of leaving the safety of Hogwarts, scared of what could be out there waiting for me. And I'm scared that there are some people I might never see again after today…

I push back the sobs in my throat and stand up from my place on the edge of my bed. I swiftly leave the room then, not caring that it is 7 am, that the rest of my dorm is asleep, or that I'm probably not allowed to be out and about at this time.

I blunder carelessly down the stairs, not at all bothering to try and be quiet. Do I care at the moment if some random third year is woken up? Not in the slightest.

I sweep towards the portrait hole as soon as I reach the common room, not bothering to try to look around the place. That would only make it more painful to leave. On my way out, I slam the portrait hole behind me with authority, not paying any attention to the startled protest of the Fat Lady.

"_Why is it that even on the last day of term, I still have numerous people awaking me at odd hours of the night?"_

I sigh and walk on, not at all sure where my feet are taking me. I wander aimlessly for a good ten minutes before I realize that I'm standing at the top of the marble staircase, looking directly at the door leading to the grounds. I shrug and decide that outside was as good a place as any to go. I had always been partial to the tree by the lake after all…

When I open the doors I realize that it's raining. Rather hard. It seems that the weather is mirroring the dismal mood I'm in. Well, at least the raindrops will help to disguise the tears that have finally started streaming down my face.

I head towards the lake, and consequently the beach tree, and when I get close I realize that someone else is already sitting under it, staring out at the lake. A few steps closer and I see that that someone is James.

I frown in confusion, wondering what in the world James could be doing out here. I get closer, and he hears me. He looks around sharply, but when he realizes it's me, a relaxed smile crosses his face and he pats the ground next to him. I walk over and sit down.

"Morning," he says, grinning lightly at me. A small smile plays at my lips.

"Hey," I reply. I look over at him, and feel my breath catch. He has wet hair and a see-through shirt from the rain. Drool.

"What are you doing out here so early?" he asks me.

"I might ask you the same thing," I shoot back, purposely avoiding his question.

"Just to, you know… think," he replies. I nod in understanding. I think I have a feeling what he must be thinking about.

We sit there for about five minutes without talking. Sometime in the middle of that, James scooted closer to me and put an arm around me, pulling me to him. I smiled at that. Moments like this are the things that I'm really going to miss, and are also the memories I am going to hold to myself most dearly.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks softly into my ear. I turn around in his arms and look at his face.

"Today is the last day of Hogwarts," I reply softly.

"It is."

"I'm going to miss it," I say, turning back around to stare at the raindrops falling on the lake and leaning my head against him.

"So am I," he mutters into my hair. I want to say more to him, but I can't bring myself to do it. I feel a question burning at my tongue, begging to be asked, but I push it back. We sit in silence for a little longer.

"Lily!" James says suddenly, sitting bolt upright. I dash away from him, startled by his sudden movements.

"What?" I ask, alarmed, "What's wrong."

"I just—" he starts to say, but he stops There is a troubled look on his face, and I frown in confusion. I reached forward gently, taking his sopping face into my hands.

"What is it?" I ask him tenderly, looking into his eyes.

"It's just… I know we said we'd keep in touch… but I'm afraid we won't see each other again after today," he said in a rush. I stare in shock. He just voiced the exact thing that had been bugging me for weeks.

"I- I've been thinking the same thing," I say.

"You have?" he asked in shock. I moved my hands from his face and slid them down so they were resting on his chest.

"Yes. And I really don't want that to happen." He smiled.

"Neither do I. And I've been thinking about this a lot… and I can understand if you don't want to do it, but I just thought I would ask because I really love you, and I-" But I cut him off by placing a hand over his mouth. James can ramble for days if given the chance, especially when he is nervous, which I can see that he is now.

"Now, when I move my hand, I want you to tell me what you were going to say, okay?" I ask slowly, as if talking to a two year old. He nods, but doesn't smile. I get a little nervous… what is he getting at? I move my hand, and he immediately opens his mouth.

"I want to live with you after Hogwarts," he blurts out quickly. I gape at him for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"I mean I can understand if you don't want to. Or if your parents would disapprove. Or if there is anything else like that, but I just wanted to ask. I shouldn't have though, it was stupid, never mind, forget I said—" And once again I'm forced to cut him off before he talks himself to death. However, this time it isn't with a simple hand to the mouth. Instead, I press a firm, passionate kiss to his lips.

I can tell that he's surprised at first, but soon he is kissing me back fiercely. He lays down, pulling me down on top of him. The rain continues its torrential downpour, but I don't care in the slightest that I am getting wet. My heart is pounding and my lungs are about to burst, so with great regret I pull back.

Both of us are panting, and as I'm lying on top of him I can feel his chest rising and falling. He looks shocked.

"Was that a yes?" He asks meekly, with a small smile on his face.

"What do you think?" I ask him with a smirk. He smiles back and kisses me again. A few minutes later we pull back, both of us panting once again. I roll off of him and sit up. James follows suit, and he leans against the trunk of the tree. I lean into his arms, and smile contently.

The rain starts to lighten up a few minutes later, and the sun begins to weakly break through the clouds. I realize with a jolt that there is now a rainbow shining over the lake. It is bright, colorful, and magical. I turn around and see that James doesn't appear to have spotted it. He is gazing off in another direction, and I realize that he's looking at the Quiddich Pitch.

Fine then. I guess this rainbow is my little secret, my little comfort. The calm _after_ the storm, if you will. I continue to look at it, a smile still gracing my face. Looking at the rainbow, I can't help but think that everything is going to be okay. The rain has stopped, and now the only evidence of the rough times is a colorful curve in the sky. Of course, more trouble undoubtedly lies ahead, but I know that in the end a rainbow will always be there shortly after.

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**By purtyinpink71121**

**A/N****: This is going to be a collaborative piece written by the members of the Reviews Lounge. Every "chapter" is about a different character, and written by a different author. It is quite likely that individually, these stories may also be posted by the authors who have contributed them. **

**The theme, as you have probably gathered, is "rainbow". **

**If anyone is interested in joining this project, jump onto the Reviews Lounge forum and choose a character! You can find all the details there. Thanks for reading, reviews are deeply appreciated, and they will be forwarded to the appropriate author!**


	4. Dobby the House Elf

**Disclaimer: The great JKR Rowling owns everything, we just like to play with her genius.**

**A/N: It is very likely that the stories published in this collaborative piece may also be published individually, by their authors, as oneshots. You have been warned.**

**-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**5. Dobby the House Elf**

Hermione set out with determination between her brows. She knew that she had to do this for the good of house-elves everywhere. S.P.E.W. was not being taken seriously, people like Ronald had insisted on disgracing it,_ 'spew, honestly',_ the only way she was going to rally support was to attack from the inside out. What was it like to be an elf? What did they go through everyday? Most importantly what was it like to be freed?

This was why Hermione was power walking through the castle, her bushy hair bouncing around her shoulders. She was on her way to the kitchens; where she was sure she could get tangible evidence that house-elves were better off free.

Tickling the pear and grasping the large green handle, she let herself into the grand kitchens. One passing elf stopped immediately in its tracks to bow to her.

" Um, yes that's all right…I'm just here to speak with Dobby?" she asked politely; cringing at the way the little elf scurried off, as if she'd personally kicked it or something. Soon she was being seated and served tea, through her multitude of polite 'thanks but no thanks' while she tried not to accept their offerings; she'd be offending them if she didn't.

"Harry Potter's friend has asked for Dobby, Miss?" Hermione turned to watch the happy creature bounce on the balls of his feet with joy. He was as mismatched as always, his tea cozy resting haphazardly on his head and his little tie askew.

"Yes, I was wondering if I could get sort of, an interview with you? About being freed?" she asked, as Dobby started nodding vigorously, sending his cozy wobbling dangerously.

" A friend of Harry Potter is a friend of Dobby! Any thing you wish, Miss!" soon Hermione had Dobby sitting before her swinging his short legs freely from a standard stool, while she rolled out her parchment and inked her quill.

"Well, the family you belonged to before being freed was…the Malfoys?" she asked, smiling as Dobby nodded vigorously again, "Well, what was your life like then? Before being free that is," she clarified.

"Dobby served one house, one family, he never thought he would be free, Miss! Dobby wore a pillowcase; Miss, like all the other elves. Dobby worked everyday; he cleaned and cooked, Miss." Dobby looked gleeful as he ignored the other elves' stares at him for speaking happily of being freed.

"And, were you punished?" Hermione asked deftly, knowing from Harry's stories that Dobby had a bit of a self-abuse habit.

"Yes, Miss, Dobby punished himself for being a bad elf, Miss!" he nodded again, his bat like ears waving from the force. She grimaced making a note that elves were taught to be proud of a job well done, including beating themselves.

"How were you set free?" Hermione shifted, watching as the small being before her trembled, his eyes wide.

"Dobby's Master brought him to the school, Miss; he needed to speak to Professor Dumbledore. Master was furious; Harry Potter is saving Hogwarts again, Miss. When the meeting was over, Dobby was taken to return home, Miss. Harry Potter handed Master a Diary, a diary inside a sock, Miss. Dobby caught the sock when master is throwing it. Dobby had been given clothing, Miss, Dobby was free." Joy was apparent on Dobby's little face at the memory of being freed.

"So what was it like after that? Did you feel different?" Hermione questioned furrowing her brow as Dobby thought.

"Yes, Miss, very different. Dobby's world was very bright, Miss. Everything was different, Miss, at the time Dobby did not understand what it was, Miss. Now Dobby knows it was colour, Miss. Dobby had colour." He smiled toothily as Hermione frowned.

"Colour? As in, you saw colour for the first time?" she asked surprised as Dobby nodded.

"Yes Miss and it was beautiful," he said dreamily as Hermione smile.

"IT IS A CURSE!" Hermione jumped at the loud squeak from behind dobby. Shifting, they both looked to find Winky swaying before them, one arm extended, pointing at Dobby. "It is a curse, Dobby is a bad elf, he likes the colours, but Winky knows, Winky knows it is a curse," she shook her small head lowering her arm. Hermione frowned.

"Dobby is sorry Miss, Winky does not like being freed, the colours hurt her eyes, Miss," he explained as Winky flopped back into her place by the fire.

"Winky does not like it, Winky is a disgraced elf!" she began to pull on her ears as great tears bubbled up in her eyes and began splashing down her front.

"Oh, Winky don't cry! You aren't disgraced, the colours are good, don't you like them better than just gray?" Hermione asked gently, but all she got in return was a high pitched wail.

"Winky is not adjusting, Miss, but Dobby enjoys the colours," he nodded before fingering his tie, stroking the vibrant orange. Hermione nodded, inspecting his wardrobe again; obviously he liked all the colours mashed together, the more garish and bright, the better.

"Well, what's your favorite colour Dobby?" Hermione asked leisurely, still glancing over at the blubbering Winky every now and then. Dobby's eyes grew wide at her question and he began considering it seriously.

"Dobby's favorite, Miss? But Dobby is liking them all!" he exclaimed, "Dobby has seen once, Miss, once in the sky, all the colours together! It was the most beautiful thing Dobby has ever seen, Miss!" he whispered conspiratorially. Hermione laughed.

"Why, Dobby, I believe you saw a rainbow. Had it just been raining?" she barely got the question out, before he was nodding again. Gnawing her lip, Hermione looked down once before glancing back up at Dobby.

"Say, Dobby," she picked up her robes to reveal one of her shoes and one lucky rainbow striped sock. His eyes grew wide as he took in the piece of fabric, "would you mind trading me a sock?" she asked him shucking her Mary Jane and slipping her sock off. Offering the limp clothing to him, she watched as Dobby scrambled out of one pink and orange striped sock, while leaving Harry's old black, one in place on his other foot.

Together they both pulled on the other's sock and looked down at them appreciatively.

"There, now you'll always have a rainbow." She smiled affectionately, as Dobby nodded once more, giving her his toothy grin.

"Thank you, Harry Potter's friend, Miss!" he squeaked excitedly bustling around proudly, as she gathered her things. Hermione smiled to herself as she left, leaving one very happy elf behind, with his very own rainbow.

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**Witblogi**

**A/N: This story takes place somewhere in the Goblet of Fire time line. If you didn't get the jist of it, enslaved elves are colour blind, and only get to see the colours when they are free. It is surprisingly hard to write a first person story from a being who only speaks in third person, (with bad grammar) therefore I fudged things a bit and had Hermione interrogate our furry little friend. **

**I was inspired to write this after reading Deathly Hallows, Dobby rocks on.**


	5. Rowena Ravenclaw

**Disclaimer: If I was JK Rowling, I would be rich, famous and doing something a lot better than procrastinating so I didn't have to do homework.**

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**5. Rowena Ravenclaw**

You sit there, staring into the distance, a slender smile spreading across your face as you watch your comrades, Godric and Salazar, huddling over a game of chess. You know Godric will win; he's always had more skill when it comes to battles and strategy. In the corner, Helga is stroking her pet cat, Pumpernickel. That cat has always reminded you of Helga, there's something in the fact that it won't even strike an innocent mouse that is reminiscent of her compassionate and caring nature.

Your eyes scan the room, taking in the paintings and the tattered parchment that line the walls of the room. Every hope and dream that the four of you have shared is etched into those scraps of paper; every idea any of you has ever had is recorded somewhere among the lines. You keep looking around, the sounds of playful banter between Godric and Salazar floating through the air. Your intuition has failed you for once; Salazar seems to have stolen victory from under Godric's nose.

Your eyes then fall upon the tattered hat, placed jauntily upon the stool in the corner. That hat is the magnum opus of your creation. It is the one thing the four of you treasure above all else. You can still remember the day you poured magic into this hat. Godric had waved his wand in an intricate configuration, muttering spells and phrases under his breath. The hat had hopped slightly on the table, and you had all held your breath, waiting to see if the years of hard work and dedication were going to be a success.

Then the rainbow had exploded, illuminating the dilapidated hat and your faces, as you watched eagerly over it. The spectrum of colours had lit up the darkened area; the brightness had seemed to fill even the deepest corners of the room. Back then, it had just seemed to you like a rainbow, but now, when you reflect on it, it seems like something more.

You had picked the colours for your houses spontaneously, each of you piping up with a suggestion on what you wanted. However, without even knowing it, you had each picked the colour that represented your personality and character traits.

Godric chose red. He said it was because red reminded him of leaves spiralling from the trees in autumn. You've always wondered whether or not this is true, but you know better than to question him. Red is considered the colour of love and passion, two emotions that sum Godric up very well. He's always been compassionate, perhaps sometimes a little too so. His passion often blinds him, causes him to become irrational and to make decisions without thinking through the consequences. But you can't say anything; you know that he would save you or any of your friends at the drop of a hat, and not even expect a simple thankyou in return. Besides, all those hasty, quickly conceived plans of Godric's, they always come true, you cannot deny it. You have seen the way his ill-concocted plans fall into place at the last moment, as though, all along, they were meant to be.

But red is also the colour of anger, and, unfortunately, this is also a sentiment that Godric seems to portray. His love blinds him, and causes him to lash in rage. The smallest things can set his temper flaring, almost as though he is a catastrophe waiting to happen. His fits of anger last for hours, but then they cease, almost as quickly as they come.

Salazar is different. He chose green, widely considered to be the colour of nature. He never mentioned why exactly he chose it. In a way, you suppose, his somewhat twisted (though you will never say so for fear of causing a rift) views do represent nature. One of the most vital yet one of the cruelest rules of nature is that which states 'only the fittest can survive.' While you do not agree with Salazar's view on exactly who those 'fit' people are, while you believe that a Muggleborn with brains is worth more than a Pureblood with none, you can't contradict the fact that he is channelling nature. He is just interpreting it a little differently to most.

Salazar's differing views are going to cause friction among the group, you can feel it. While he and Godric are like best friends and brothers, the rift is slowly forming. Maybe the only reason you have spotted it is because you have slightly more intuition and brain power than others, but you know that is unlikely. Salazar and Godric are too proud to admit that anything is wrong, and Helga is too trusting, too willing to see the good in everyone.

Yellow is meant to represent happiness, which is, in a way, quite a good synonym for Helga. She is your best friend, and your confidante, yet you see her faults, just like you see everyone else's. It's the one true disadvantage of brains, although this thought will never cross your lips, you like people to think that you believe brains are everything. She is delusional, seeing only the good things that she wants to be there, and blocking out everything that does not belong in her perfect world. Helga has no prejudices, not because she doesn't care (you know all too well that she does), but because she sees only the good in everyone. You feel sorry for her, because even though she does seem entirely happy with her blissful existence, you have always believed that knowledge and wisdom, the two things that will make you truly happy, can only be found through experiencing life – the good, the bad and the ugly.

You chose blue. To you, blue has always meant peace and harmony. You believe that people can only achieve true peace if they understand the world around them. Really, though, you just picked it because you think it is pretty, and that it matches well with your eyes. But if blue truly represents peace, then you know you have made the right choice.

You reflect back to the rainbow that appeared that day, bright and symbolic. You can still picture everyone's reactions, right down to the tone in their voice.

"_It's so pretty"_

"_Helga, don't be silly, it's just a rainbow, one that's a bit too bright and gay for my liking"_

"_Well, perhaps it is a sign of some sort, a sign saying that we should continue on our quest to create the world's most renowned magic school"_

You said nothing, but inside you were bursting. You could feel the smile exploding on your face. To you, that rainbow meant togetherness, the way the colours blended in perfect harmony. You know you sound a little like Helga when you say this, but it is true. The colours all mesh together, showing that no matter how different you are, you can still connect.

The colours really do mean something. After all purple, the combination of red and blue, is said to represent royalty. While it is one of those unspoken rules, you know that you and Godric are the leaders of your group. Godric has the power to overrule, and natural leadership qualities, while everyone looks to you for wisdom. You are the one who makes everyone's ideas come together, because while everyone else becomes overenthusiastic and rushes head-first towards disaster, you stop and think things through, looking at the logistics of each plan.

Orange is the colour of Godric and Helena. It's said to have positive connotations, to be the mid-ground between red and yellow. Orange symbolises the perfect person, one who is optimistic and tolerant of all, yet still able to fight. In short, it is what every person in this room aspires to be.

Despite your thirst for knowledge, you still have not come to a conclusion about pink. Perhaps one day, when you are even more experienced and wiser than you are now, you will know. But some things should remain unknown; some things should invite and inspire quests for knowledge.

Your eyes open, you were that lost in your thoughts that you never realised they had shut. Helga is now sound asleep, her mouth wide open as she gently snores. Godric and Salazar are deep in conversation, discussing dragons, each of them gesturing wildly with their hands as they dispute.

Checking that no-one is paying attention to you, you sneak towards the hat, drawing out your wand as you do so. You tap the hat a few times, sparks flying from your wand tip. And then, the rainbow appears, floating in front of you. You lean back, soaking in the colours as they radiate. The others are still engrossed in their other pursuits, but you do not notice them, you are too busy studying the rainbow. You smile as you study the colours, tangible and interweaved as they are.

Life will not always be a picnic. Your friends will live up to both the positive and the negative connotations associated with the colours that they chose to represent their beliefs.

But for now, you have the rainbow, and that is all that matters.

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**Cuban Sombrero Gal**

A/N: Hi guys -waves-

This is my first attempt at a Founder's fic, so sorry if anything seems off. It is also my first attempt at 2nd person, so any feedback, positive or negative, is welcomed.

Hope you guys enjoyed it


	6. Harry Potter

**Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the quote from the beautiful poem Lamia by John Keats below: (**

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**6. Harry Potter**

**"…**_**Do not all charms fly**__**  
**__**At the mere touch of cold philosophy?**__**  
**__**There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:**__**  
**__**We know her woof, her texture; she is given**__**  
**__**In the dull catalogue of common things.**__**  
**__**Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, **__**  
**__**Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, **__**  
**__**Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine-**_

_**Unweave a rainbow…"**_

_Harry Potter watched the ceiling above him, the small cracks and marks falling into slow lethargic movements, providing a show for his unseeing eyes. He closed the lids over his green orbs tightly and sighed. If he listened closely, he could hear Ron's breath, rising and falling, periodically erupting into loud snorts. He could hear very faintly Mrs. Weasley's chatter over the sizzling of cooking breakfast, barking out the orders he'd too soon have to follow... and he could smell it too, a warm, tempting smell of bacon and biscuits that had drifted all the way under the crack in Ron's door at the top of The Burrow. Beneath his fingers, the soft touch of simple linen cared for by gentle motherly love in a warm home. He grabbed the sheets in furled fists, pressing his nails forcefully into his palm._

_When would it be over? When would this oasis finally be ripped from him forever? He had lived so many years without it, not daring to believe it existed, and now that he had it, he could see it slowly cracking before him…When would it finally collapse?_

_A family. What Harry never had. And finally, here he was, only to know it would all end too soon. But he couldn't ignore it any longer. Sirius was the first blow that came to mind. Harry cringed and closed his eyes tighter. Mrs. Weasley's constant crying. The soft look in Hermione's eyes as she scanned the morning paper. Watching Peter Pettigrew sit between his smiling parents, as a friend, an equal. Neville visiting his deranged parents, who didn't know him, who couldn't care…blow after blow after blow._

_But it was Dumbledore's death that served as solid proof. Who would have ever thought Albus Dumbledore could succumb to death? It was as if the greatest constant of good had been relieved, an ancient pillar, with twinkling eyes of sincerity, with the soothing words of the all knowing…_

_And then, quickly, without warning, the pillar was removed, and Harry was stuck inside the crumbling temple._

_Harry fought back the stinging cry that lumped in his throat. He wouldn't give in. He __couldn't__. He would risk it all to stop that evil. The warm bed, the welcomed racket, the very air he breathed… Everything._

_And this was his promise._

_" 'Arry?" came a familiar yawn. Ron had awoken._

_Harry dropped the lithe sheets from his hands and turned over onto his side, squeezing his eyelids tightly once more before flickering them open, revealing a tired redhead rubbing a hand against his slopped nose._

_Everything._

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**MS Dae**

_**A/N: All right, so I used first a part of the poem, and then a second reference to rainbows (the promise). Very tricky challenge! Thanks to all readers/reviewers!**_

_**-M.S. Dae**_


	7. Ron Weasley

**Disclaimer: Nothing affiliated with Harry Potter is ours in anyway.**

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**7. Ron Weasley**

School: a place to learn a fraction of the skills needed for life outside the safety of education. This was a fact Ronald Weasley had known from the very beginning of his education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. However knowing this did not effect the amount of effort he put into his school work, not when he was the best friend of Harry Potter and having an exciting adventure every other week, oblivious to the true danger that they were in.

Circling the room he now stood in, Ron marvelled at the sheer effort the people surrounding him were putting into the project. Not school work as such, something both much more important and less than simple school work. To some, it was simply a way to pass the O.W.L's. To others the importance of the movement that Hermione had aptly named the D.A., for Dumbledore's Army, gave the people involved something they hadn't been able to feel for nearly a year - hope. Personal hope. Umbridge, with her frilly pink cardigans and fluffy cats about the place promoted an air of false hope, which to Ron, reminded him strongly and strangely of rainbows.

The multicoloured semi-circle that appeared on a sunny, yet rainy day promoted false hope to people like Ron. At the end of a rainbow there's supposed to be pots of gold, glinting off the sunlight, welcoming. Enticing. Who ever invented that must have been a person with much faith. It was fools gold, gold that never existed.

Luna would probably come up with some sort of creature only she could see to explain the rainbow.

Have you ever tried to follow a rainbow?

Ron has. When he was just eight years old and he had not known school or the dangers of the world, and he had been wrapped up in the safe world his parents had created for him. His parents had laughed when he'd got up from the small picnic they were having, just Ron and Ginny as all his other brothers were off at Hogwarts. When it had come into sight, he had run towards the rainbow with it's fascinating and enticing colours, but he'd never caught up to it. It kept running away from him, further and further until little eight year old Ron could run no more. It was then he had realised that the magic of the rainbows were false, and he'd never tried to follow one again.

'What are you thinking, Ron?' Came Hermione's soft voice once he had completed a circuit of the room.

'About rainbows,' was the only answer she would ever receive. Hermione wouldn't understand, she herself was most like a rainbow, giving out the signs of false hope. She would be unattainable, why would she like him, an ordinary, average school kid, second to the famous Harry Potter?

There are many definitions of the term 'rainbow,' in a sense the DA itself was like one. It was a collaboration of the houses of Hogwarts, just like a rainbow was a collaboration of the various colours. Was this, then, an organisation giving out false hope to the members? Ron scanned the room again, seeing Luna produce a Patronus, and Neville stun Seamus. No, the DA was an organisation that was less like Ron's notion of a rainbow, and more like the fairy tale version, in which the people got the treasure at the end, in this case being able to do things they weren't able to before. There was no fools gold in the rainbow of Dumbledore's Army.

When Ron was ten, on a particularly showery day, Ginny had asked him why he didn't smile or look at rainbows anymore. Looking at her serious face, and the question in her eyes, Ron had no choice but to tell the truth.

'They lost their magic, Gin.' Ron had replied. Glancing out of the window into the fields beyond their house the sun started to come out from behind the clouds, looking back, he saw that she still wasn't satisfied, 'One day you'll see, rainbows are not something you can touch, to feel. You can't follow one to get the treasure at the end, because the treasure doesn't exist.'

It was a view that Ron had held for a long time afterwards. And he remembered the exact time that the feeling of the false rainbow stopped. It was in the very second that Ron had decided Dumbledore's Army was a rainbow, that the hope of three of the four school houses were assembled in a mixture of colours, intentions and that the treasure at the end was not the fairytale gold glinting in the sun, but the knowing that they were fighting not just for Dumbledore and against You - Know - Who, they were fighting for the colours that got forgotten. They were fighting, like a rainbow does, for a brighter future.

A year and a half after Ron's notion of the rainbow had changed saw the defeat of Voldemort. The day had rained and they were all tired. Harry faced the Dark Lord with Ron and Hermione at his side and the D.A. behind him, and a rainbow had shone brighter than ever in the sky. It was rejuvenating, energising and gave hope to the warriors of the Second War, and their treasure was found in the defeat of Voldemort at the foot of the shining rainbow.

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**RyanKathrynCelia**


	8. Narcissa Black

**Disclaimer: All characters, settings and anything else recognizable from Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling, and we make no claim on her ideas.**

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**8. Narcissa Black**

It rains the whole night before her wedding.

Her mother is furious, and spends the entire night pacing, glaring at the window, huffing about how they'll never be able to have the wedding outdoors like it's supposed to be, as though she can will the clouds to stop their weeping and suit her needs. Narcissa, on the other hand, watches the rain smudge the lights past her window, fragmenting into rainbows if she tilts her head just right, and dreams.

Lucuis is... a handsome man, and a good, respectable pure-blood groom. He's a little cold, a little formal, like he read a book on how to court women or was taught by his father the day before he met her. Like the Lucius she knows isn't quite him. But he's...

A complete bore, really. If she's honest with herself. He follows protocol - he gave her a corsage on their first date, pulled out the chair for her stiffly, poured her wine, that sort of thing - and doesn't go any further. A kiss on her hand - _Enchanted to meet you. I see beauty runs in the family_ - as if he wanted to be Prince Charming but forgot how to smile.

As a little girl, her older sister would tell her fairytales to help her sleep, of magical cloaks and maidens on voyages and beautiful princesses rescued by handsome princes. Andromeda's stories were always a mixture of everything, something she'd heard on the train, something she'd made up, something she'd been told not to do, a dream she'd had - it all went into Narcissa's bedtime stories. Andy had a knack for storytelling, a way of spinning words, of making the sentences come alive.

If she's honest - and now is the time to be, for there won't be many chances to be later - she respects Andromeda more than anyone else, respects her courage and determination, her voice and her willpower. She half-wishes that her sister could be at her wedding, but Mother would never allow it (and she isn't sure Andy would come if she got an invitation, anyway).

It's a childish wish, but she wants to hear her sister's voice, she wants to be tucked in with a fairytale prince and a caricature of evil. She wants to close her eyes and be a little girl again, a child imagining worlds beyond the rainbows in her window, more than Hogwarts or Diagon Alley, a place where dreams come true and mistakes can be fixed.

She's being stupid, and she knows it. What would Mother think?

She would probably tell her that there is no place here for such folly, and to stop being such a child. It's time to grow up and be a Lady now, you're too old for that nonsense. Stand up straight and stop biting your lip.

Don't cry.

Her eyes blur in the darkness, her last night in her old bed, rain pattering at the roof overhead, the house in silence except for Mother's pacing in the Drawing Room, the lights past her windows glowing orange and undefined, the distant sounds of a Muggle town beyond the walls blending with the words in her head - _And they lived happily ever after_. Andromeda's voice echoes through her ears, the ending to every story, the close of every once upon a time - happily ever after. She swallows hard and tries not to let her tears touch the pillow.

Andromeda was strong enough to -

But Lucius is a good man. That's what they all tell her, and that's the truth. He's not Prince Charming, but he's a Pure-Blood and the only heir to the Malfoy fortune, so she'll never want for anything. She's not in love with him, but they say that love will come. Eventually, she'll grow attached to him by sheer force of will, and all will be well.

And if she squeezes her eyes tight and clutches the comforter hard enough, she can almost convince herself that someone is going to dive through her window and carry her off into the night and save her from a loveless society marriage, the same way that that Tonks Mudblood did for Andromeda. If she squints, she can believe that she's a princess locked up in a tower, and her prince will - But all of this is nonsense, she knows. Even inside her own dreams, she can't escape the fact that she is not living a fairytale.

She will not be saved from this marriage, nor does she need to be. Lucius is a fine man. She will find happiness with him, in time. She will grow to enjoy his company.

Through the blurry tears she can see the window, glittery with rainbows and childhood and innocence, whispering once upon a time and ever after. Then she blinks, and all she sees is rain on glass.

_You're too old for that nonsense._

(There's a big, bright rainbow glittering at her wedding, but no one mentions it, not even Narcissa.)

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**By cupid-painted-blind**

**General A/N (from Lexie, not Cupid)****: All reviews will be replied to personally by the author of each chapter – so this is a reminder to please review everything!!! (you know, as if they were all one-shots) **

**And just in case anyone is wondering, this is labeled Narcissa Black because she doesn't become a Malfoy until the end… so yeah. Cupid, if you want it changed, let me know! **

**Thank you for reading!**


	9. Sirius Black

**Disclaimer: We own absolutely nothing that is in anyway affiliated with Harry Potter**

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9. Sirius Black

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You smile slowly as you pull open the backdoor of your home. You try not to show it, but you're silently elated for the first time since the summer. Finally, everyone was coming back to see you for Christmas; the lonely days of sitting on the windowsill of your old room and waiting for owls were temporarily over.

You spot your old, good friend, the last real friend from your Hogwarts days, sitting on the porch in a dark green lawn chair he had probably conjured. Your great pal, Remus. He is sipping tea, something you remember him doing often, even in his teenage years.

Almost timidly, you step out. He turns slightly to see you and cracks a small smile.

You ask slowly if you can join him, making eye contact.

He simply nods, gesturing towards another lawn chair by his side.

Wordlessly, you know that both he and you are thinking the same thoughts. Thinking about how fifteen years ago, you would have never asked him for permission to join him.

You shut the backdoor behind you quietly and stroll forward towards him. After seating yourself comfortably, you look at the scene in front of you.

There is a slight chill in the air and the grass is damp, signaling to you that it has just rained. Although it is midday, there is a buildup of clouds and grayness, dulling the mood. You're used to this, though. In London, it rains all the time, and late

November is definitely one of the rainier times of the year from your experiences.

And then, you see it. A rainbow. It's faint and missing the nice, vibrant look you see in pictures, but it's nice.

A picture of a laughing James calling you gay for liking rainbows comes to you. You smile, too, aware that you would taunt him the same way if he were still here.

You decide to scoot forward in your chair to see the amazing sight. It is beautiful. Not like those many girls you dated when you were in school, not like their plastic, pretty faces, but truly beautiful.

You then close your eyes slowly, knowing if anyone knew you were thinking these thoughts, your reputation would be soiled. But part of you doesn't care anymore.

You reopen your eyes and gaze at it again.

There's red. Your favorite color. It represents your house, Gryffindor. Red also represents anger and love. Anger is something you try not to feel, love is something you just didn't feel.

Then, there's orange. You've never cared much about the color until one night, the night your life was torn apart. That night that led you into Azkaban. That night was Halloween, orange and black. Your opinion of orange is low, but you won't hate it for the small reason that it represents Halloween.

After, there's yellow. Yellow is the color of happiness, optimism, the sun. Things you long to have, but know won't happen to you. Yellow is pointless, just like Hufflepuff, in your opinion.

Green, the color you detest. At one point in time, you were in love with green. You were young, naïve. Now green makes you think of Slytherin, hatred and envy, Voldemort, and most of all, James and Lily. How the last color they saw was green. Sometimes you like green, just because your godson has those green eyes that your best mate, your brother at heart, loved so much. But otherwise, it's foul.

Blue is the color of Ravenclaw. The color of smarts, wit, and cleverness. Things you think are useless. Head smarts, you call them. Blue is sadness and tranquility. You avoid blue; you don't want blue to happen to you, but you know it gradually is.

Last is purple. Purple had always hit you as the real feminine color, more feminine than even pink. When you were a teenager, you would wear purple all the time, along with eyeliner and very tight pants. During that phase, James would scoff at your softness, while Peter and Remus would exchange weird looks when ever you got dressed. All you would care about was how it made girls swoon. Now, it represents royalty and class to you. You don't care at all about the color, in fact.

It hits you quite suddenly that you've covered most qualities while examining the magnificent colors. Rainbow, you decide, is one word that can describe the entire world, all the universe, because a rainbow has it all.

A rainbow to you is one thing that would forever be a mystery in your eyes. No matter all the myths and discoveries, the rainbow would remain an unsolved case.

You jump up as Remus calls for your attention. Realizing how long you've been analyzing the spectrum of colors, you ask him what he wants curiously. His question is one you have never thought of: What is behind the tattered veil in the Death Chamber of the Department of Mysteries?

You don't wonder why he asks such a question. Instead, you look at the sky one more time and whisper in reply:

"A rainbow."

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**ProngsxLilyFlower**

**As Lexie stressed last chapter, please review, the authors feel very happy when you do.** **And feel free to check out our forum/communities as well - links are in the profile.**


	10. Percy Weasley

**Disclaimer: Sadly, nothing that is in anyway associated with Harry Potter is ours**

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10. Percy Weasley

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A rainbow, that's what the Weasleys were, are. One sibling for each color. Mum and Dad were like the rain and light that brought them about; always there, always guiding them, but not quite part of the showy display.

Red. Red was Ron, longing to be first in something (yet somehow outdoing them all), and full of fire and emotion.

Orange. Orange was Charlie; just as fiery as Ron, but easier to keep in check, and more understanding.

Yellow. Yellow was me, that traitorous color that's either perfect or horrid, with no inbetween.

Green. Green was Ginny, who could be happy and light-hearted or as dismal and depressed as the dungeons Snape haunted. She calmed, soothed, and comforted them all, but also added to the chaos.

Blue. Blue was Bill, calm and steady and the height of cool, always unwittingly setting the example.

Indigo. Indigo was George, full of fun but as clever as Dumbledore, not one to jump to conclusions or into a fight, but with a slow and burning rage that would eventually turn out worse for the recieving party.

Violet. Violet, so similar to indigo yet still different, was Fred. More hot-headed than his twin and just as smart, Fred completed the picture, no matter which picture it was.

Since my schooldays, I had resented them for being so much more lively and open than me; for, seemingly, being close to each other in a way that I was close to none of them. I was the perfect one, the one who all the jobs got shoved onto because I would do it and never complain, the dependable one. I so desperately longed to be recognized, that I was willing, no, eager, to do whatever was asked of me.

And as I grew up, I remained a follower, someone who would do what those they considered their superiors wished, no questions asked. But still, I did not get the loving recognition I longed for, so I tried even harder to please. I even pushed my family aside to fulfill my "duties".

But as time wore on, my intelligence won over and began to question what was going on around me. My guilt ate away at me, sending my performance at work spiraling down the drain, and my confidence and faith in the Ministry along with it.

So, when the chance came, I grabbed at it and held on, hoping for my family's forgiveness and love, and, most of all, that I wasn't too late.

Because, I realized, we were a rainbow, and always had been, and yellow, there in the middle, can't wander away on its own. It has its own place and responsibilities, and the other colors just aren't quite the same without it. And without my realizing it, they'd appreciated, loved, Percy all along.

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**Named for the Wind**

**I hope you like what has been done so far. Every character has a unique take on the same idea, and I think that's what we're about at the Reviews Lounge. So, please review, and make us feel even more special.**


	11. Ariana Dumbledore

**Disclaimer: The fabulous Jo owns everything.**

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**11. Ariana Dumbledore**

Look at the lovely sky outside. It's been raining for such a very long time, but rain is really the loveliest thing of all. Drops are falling down the windowsill, and I trace them with my finger, pretending I can feel their moisture absorbing into my hand.

The grass is dewy now that the rain has stopped, and I remember what Aberforth told me about what happens after it rains. I didn't believe him at first, but then Albus said it was true, so now I know that more often than not rain brings rainbows. I've never seen one except in the books Abe brought for me one day, and it looked so pretty I wanted to reach into the page and touch it.

But I learned a very long time ago I can't do those things. Not like Albus and sometimes Abe can; but a lot of times when I'm just in between waking and sleeping, I think that once I might have been able to. It's all very vague, and my mouth won't coordinate with my brain to say it out loud, because my words get all twisted up and fall out of my mouth like they're broken and no one understands.

The clouds are parting. I peer anxiously out the window, because maybe today might be the day I see a rainbow. In that odd place where I'm not really asleep but not really awake, I think it might be nice to sit on a rainbow one day. It would be very high up, but I wouldn't be scared, because like Mum says all the time I'm a very brave girl. In the picture from the books, the red at the very beginning of the rainbow reminds me of Daddy. It's loud and it's first and it's in front of everybody and everything. I miss Daddy, but Mum says he'll be back soon, so I'm not worried. He just went on a trip is all.

The orange is like Albus, did you know that? Albus is always second, just after Daddy, and not _quite _as loud, and not _quite _as attention grabbing, but special in his very own way. It's the shade in-between the sweet yellow and bright red, and so is Al, right in the middle.

Sweet yellow is just for Mum, of course, she's so sweet and I very much want to tell her that, but oh! How frustrating that when words come into my brain they don't make it out of my mouth! I just want to tell my mother how soft and shining she is, just like a bright star, because people always gravitate towards her, it's true. At the parties I went to when I was a baby (I don't go anymore, I don't know why, but it's probably just because Mum's getting too old and too tired to go out that much) she was at the center of a conversation every time.

When I see green I think of Abe, I don't really know why. He's so calm and soft, just like the grass is when I feel it tickling my toes when Mum let's me go out into the lawn at night. She's so nice to let me go out at night, when it's the prettiest of all. But Abe is green like that old expression, what was it exactly? "The green-eyed monster." Daddy told me it means someone is jealous. I think Abe is a little jealous of Al. Al is book smart, and he knows everything there ever is to know and more, but Abe never forgets me, like Al sometimes does. But I know it's because he's busy so I forgive him. Abe is soft like green, and he reads me stories about rainbows.

Blue is another matter entirely. I once said it to Al in not so many words, and he thinks it's silly, but blue is like Margarine, my cat. Of course, everyone thinks it's silly to have a cat named Margarine, but I like margarine. It's sweet and soft and so is my cat. But Margarine isn't the colour blue, she's just _blue._ She mopes about my room all the time in a slump, but even though she's sad she makes me calm. Sometimes I get really mad, and I can't explain why, like the time Mum was trying to teach me how to lace up a corset, but the strings got twisted in my fingers, and when I tried to tell my fingers to move one way they moved the opposite, and I just got too _upset, _andI sat down on the bed and cried and cried. But Margarine sat in my lap and my heart stopped beating so fast and my face got pale again and I felt better.

At the very end of the rainbow, there's indigo. I don't really know why, but indigo is just me. I'm always at the end, the last to be introduced, if at all, and the last to know things, the last in line _always. _But indigo is the darkest, and I'm dark too, I suppose. In my way of living, if that makes any sense. I once saw Al and Abe outside climbing trees, and I started crying again because I so wanted to go too! But I couldn't, I had to stay in my dim room and watch them play in the light.

Everyone's a colour, if it's only in my mind, but a lot of things in my mind are different from the real world. And now I'm still waiting to see a rainbow.

I see a glitter of light pass through the grey sky. Can it be? I hold my breath as the clouds part once again to reveal the sparkling, shimmering colours off in the distance.

It's a real live rainbow! It's so much prettier than I ever imagined anything could be, with the colours fading in and out of each other yet still fitting perfectly. I give a great laugh of happiness and Al walks into the room with my lunch.

"Here Ari, I've got your food. What are you looking at?" He sets down the tray and looks out the window with me before cracking a smile. "What do you know, it's a rainbow. Do you like it, Ari?"

"Oh, yes!" I want to shout. "It's the most glorious thing, red for Daddy, orange for you, yellow for mum, green for Abe, blue for Margarine and indigo for me! See how we fit just right? Al, I don't think anything has ever been so lovely! How can you not stare at it all day long?"

But the same thing happens as it does every time I try to speak. The words get moved around and the letters switch places and my tongue is tied, and all I can mutter is, "So pretty, Al."

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**something-like-love**


	12. Remus Lupin

**Disclaimer: We do not own anything that is related even remotely to Harry Potter**

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**12. Remus Lupin**

Remus Lupin always loved the rainbow. As he grew up, he used to wish it would rain just so he could run around the backyard and try to spot the rainbow from so far down on the soggy grass. His mother and father would always call him inside.

"_You'll catch the flu!" his mother used to call, holding a cooking pot._

"_Just a minute, Mum! I have to find a rainbow first!" he would yell back, frantically trying to climb a tree so as to see further away in case he missed the rainbow._

_At that point, his father would always pull Remus out of the tree and sit him on his shoulders. "I'm taller and safer than any tree you'll ever climb, son!" he would say proudly._

Remus smiled at the memory as he walked along. He had no idea where he was. It was entirely white. It stretched on and on for as far as he could see. It every direction, the whiteness enveloped the surroundings. Remus had no idea how he arrived in the strange place.

The last thing he could remember was Dora's face, looming in and out of his vision. Her face was lit up with a smile and her eyes were twinkling. Everything else was a dark blur. Well, he could also remember a green flash of light followed by a murky haze faintly resembling the colours of the rainbow. The vision stuck in the front of his mind. Something was wrong.

He was dead. He knew that much.

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Remus' parents always wondered why he liked the rainbow so much. It was because of the colours, what they reminded him of, what they made him feel and remember.

Yellow, orange, pink, red, green, blue, indigo and violet.

The yellow made Remus feel happy and content. It was the colour of sunlight on his pillow. The colour dress that his wife wore on their wedding day. It was just one of those humbling memories that make you smile, even if sadness is staring you right in the face. He didn't mind yellow flowers, actually. Not that that had anything to do with it. But Remus had met many people in his life that claimed yellow flowers were for funerals and grandmothers' birthdays. Remus disagreed. He thought they were the perfect colour flowers to give a lady when you had accidentally broken their heart. And he was no stranger to that.

Orange reminded him of flames. It brought back memories of flooing over to James' house whenever Lily turned him down. Those were the good times. Sirius and Remus used to cheer him up by playing Flame Thrower. It involved holding flames in your hand and throwing them over a certain distance to hit a target. The closer the flames were to the target, the orangeier they were. Sirius used to throw them at the cat. The poor thing would jump around, thinking he was on fire when, really, the flames were harmless.

Pink reminded him of Tonks, his beautiful wife. She always wore her hair in her customary shade of bubblegum pink. Of course, she would change the colour for special occasions or unintentionally when her mood changed. He could distinctly remember her hair going gold when she slipped over on an icy street on one of their first dates and let out a high-pitched laugh. He wasn't sure what the gold colour meant, but he assumed she was just surprised.

A few days after meeting her, Remus found himself absent-mindedly walking into corner shops, buying pink bubblegum and sitting down to just stare at it. All a bit frightening at first. But, he soon came to realise that it was because he loved her so much that the colour would brighten his day, make him smile and turn him slightly tipsy all at the one time.

And that brings him along to red. The colour of love. Oh yes, and love it was. Tonks brought out the best in Remus, even at the darkest of times. He could remember thinking he was in love countless times during his Hogwarts days, but it was never the same way he felt about Tonks. His little Dora meant much more than _that_ to him. Love was the thing that killed him, that saved his life, that killed all his friends and that save countless millions. It was the death and life of him. Nothing meant more.

Then, of course, came green. The green reminded him of the soft grass that he used to collapse onto with the rest of the Marauders under their beech tree and of the forest that he grew up next to. He used to play in the forest by himself when he was younger. His imagination would run wild as he frolicked around in its clearings. Some days, he would pretend to be a King and command armies into battle. Others, he was a brave pirate, collecting treasure and fighting against sea monsters. What ever he wanted to do, or be, he could.

Unfortunately, he had one very painful memory associated with that mysterious forest. Within its high, leafy walls created by the trees, he came across one ferocious beast called Fenrir Greyback. Remus couldn't remember the details. When he flipped through the memories in his head, all that he could extract was the memory of a dark shape, feeling scared and alone, running and finally a sickening howl. That was all.

He didn't like thinking about it, really. But life made it hard for him not to. It felt unnatural to him that a place that he grew up in and loved could be even remotely related to such a horrible incident that endangered the lives of those he loved. But for some reason, the rainbow and his condition being connected didn't make his transformations any more painful. It, unusually, made it easier to deal and come to terms with.

Blue was one of his favourites. It wasn't quite the colour of the sky, yet, it wasn't the colour of the sea, either. That was what made it so enchanting. It was different. Unique. Unusual. Rare... Frightening... Just like him. And it worried him.

He confided this fact in his wife. She refused to believe it. She told him that if he ever thought of that again. She would personally see to it that he would never be able to speak again. She said it with such a force that he was too afraid to move. He relaxed ever so slightly when she followed the comment up by asking if he wanted apple or cherry pie for desert.

It comforted Remus – the thought that a colour like the blue in the rainbow, which was so different, could look so beautiful and at peace up in the sky. It gave him hope when he took his monthly transformations. Although he was different, he had a place too. With his wife and newborn child.

The blue also reminded him of his mother's special room. In it, she kept paints, drawings, sketches, pictures, fabrics, books, photo albums and other, precious, little items she held dear. The walls were painted a cream colour, but his mother had always complained and vowed to one day paint over them with a blue. Remus never saw the point as a little kid – the walls were completely covered anyway. But, after she died, he walked into the room, cleared it out and sat down to paint. It looked magnificent now.

_Not that she is around to enjoy it_, Remus thought bitterly.

Indigo was the most painful stripe in the rainbow to look at. It was the colour of the flowers at Lily and James' wedding. It was the colour of fabric used in the bridesmaids' dresses. It was the colour of champagne that the waiters served at the reception. It was the colour tie that he, Sirius and James wore.

The wedding was small and quiet, but that was what made it fun. James and Sirius played with the birds while Remus and Lily danced around, smiling and laughing. Lily's parents, along with James and Remus', were all gone by the time the wedding rolled around. Remus could remember feeling very low about himself when Lily asked him to walk her down the isle in place of her father. He was honoured. At first, he claimed that she could find somebody better to do the job, but he quickly gave in to her glare and accepted the offer.

Lily, James and Sirius meant the world to him. They were his only family and they had slipped through his fingers, betrayed by the man they trusted. He always felt a twinge of pain in his heart when he thought about his old school friends. It mingled with a stab of anger at the man who had let them slip away. Peter Pettigrew.

Violet was a much softer memory. It was a very happy one. It was the colour of his newborn son's eyes. Dora had told him that when she was first born, they new she was a metamorphous very quickly. Well, it was the only reasonable explanation for why her hair and eyes were both lime green. And how her toes changed shape on a daily basis.

Tonks was over the moon when she found out Teddy Remus could switch his appearance at will. However, this excitement was very much extinguished and replaced with fear when, three weeks after he was born, the newborn unexpectantly grew a lot of fur and rather sharp teeth. He, however, was not a full werewolf on the night of the full moon and Remus was filled with joy by this.

For months, and blanketed by fear in the back of his mind since he turned twenty, he had been worried that he would pass on, to any member of his offspring, the horrible curse he had lived with since he was only a little boy. On the night of Teddy's second full moon, Dora insisted that Teddy sit with Remus while they were both transformed. Remus had no choice in the matter. She had threatened to switch the mind-controlling potion he took before transforming with Essence of Insanity.

Remus was scared that night. He had taken his potion, curled up next to the fire and was almost asleep when she walked in. Teddy was in her arms. She had never seen him in werewolf form; he had made sure of that. What if she was disgusted? What if she left him? Dora walked over to him and placed Teddy, asleep, on the floor next to him.

_Dangerously close to my paws_, Remus had thought.

What if he got scratched? What if he woke up and was scared? But there wasn't any more time to think about that. He was almost asleep himself. Tonks pulled Teddy onto her lap after a few minutes of staring in wonder at Remus. She crawled over to him and curled up on the floor next to his paws. The little family slept like that that night.

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Remus smiled again at the thought. He could really do with some family now. He kept walking in the whiteness. He had been walking for what felt like hours. It true fact, it had been only two. He was bored. Very bored. It would seem like the time, or the place, for such immature things. But he was very, very bored.

"So, Remus, my good man," he said, trying to occupy himself. "What's new?"

He looked around, just in case, before replying.

"Not much. Although I do believe I just died."

The idea sounded a little saner in his head.

"Where are you, Dora?" he muttered, continuing on his way.

He walked a few more steps before he heard a little popping sound. He spun around wildly, but nothing was there.

"TONKS?" he bellowed.

No answer.

"_TONKS!_"

"REMUS?"

He had heard it, but it didn't come from any direction. It just bounced around, what he imagined were, the walls and echoed through his head.

"Where are you?" she yelled. He could tell it was his wife. "More importantly, where am I?" she muttered, but it was just as loud as her yell had been.

"I don't know!" He spun around again. "_Where_ _are_ _you_?"

"I would answer, but I don't know."

Remus sighed and sat down on the white floor. "Tonks? What just happened?"

He heard a sniff and the faint sound of a tear drop onto the ground. "You were killed. Right in front of me."

Remus froze. He didn't mind being dead, but knowing that Dora had seen it made him feel angry with himself for being so reckless.

"What about our baby?" his wife whispered. "What's going to happen to Teddy?"

He hadn't thought about that yet. The idea of being a father still was to sink into his mind. He kicked himself for, again, being careless.

"I don't know, cupcake. Harry will look after him."

"But, honey bun, what if he doesn't make it?"

Remus grinned. "He is James and Lily's son. Of course he will make it!"

He could almost hear Tonks smile. "Now what? Where are we?"

Remus sighed again. "Not sure..."

"Hmm..." Tonks mumbled. "What if I tried..._this_?"

Remus was about to ask 'This what?', but before he could, he was spinning _very_ fast.

**Pop!**

Remus slowly stood up from where he was lying on the floor. He seemed to be in a house of some sort. A living room. He searched the walls before realising he knew exactly where he was – The Potter's living room. He grinned and started running through the door to the kitchen. Before he could make it the whole way, he collided with something hard. Dora.

"Remus!"

"Dora!" Remus picked her up and spun her around, grinning. He put her down and grabbed her arm. "Come on! We have to look for Lily, James and Sirius!"

The words had barely even left his mouth before three new figures joined him in the room. Lily, James and Sirius looked just like they did before the Potter's deaths, only, slightly more upbeat.

He stared at their faces in turn. Lily looked as kind as ever, James looked – as usual – like he had just jumped off a broomstick and Sirius had a cheeky smile plastered onto his face.

Sirius grinned. "Race you to the pool!"

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**MentalLady and RabbitohsGirl (sisters!)**

A/N: Yeah, just a little cheeky ending we came up with! We hope you like it! Oh, and look out for the Salazar one which will be out shortly!


	13. Molly Weasley

**Disclaimer: If** **you recognise it as being related to Harry Potter, we don't own it**

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**13. Molly Weasley**

Molly Weasley paused, her maternal radar chirping. After a second, she relaxed, dismissing the yell as one of playfulness instead of pain. Dropping the blue robes she was folding onto the orange bedspread, she crossed Ron's bedroom, meandering around the beds and stopping at the window. From here at the top of the tall, rickety house, precariously perched on the edge of the hill, the view was breathtaking.

The landscape rose and fell; the hills and valleys stretching out in front of her as far as the eye could see, in varying shades of green and brown. Tiny bright villages were scattered around and further in the distance were fields of cows, sheep and horses, grazing contentedly. It looked too perfect to be real, spoilt only by the ominous black clouds rolling in from a distant valley, occasionally obscuring the sun before allowing it to shine radiantly back through.

And yet Molly's eye was drawn to none of this, but instead to a different vision of beauty.

Down in the clearing at the end of the long garden were her husband and a troop of nine children - well, Molly corrected herself, most of them were of age now, no longer children but _adolescents_ - eight messy bronze heads combined with two dark. All but three of the people were currently zooming around on broomsticks. The bushy brown head of Hermione was locked in what looked like an intense discussion with Percy, their feet firmly on solid ground alongside Arthur, who was calming observing the unevenly matched Quidditch game in front of him. Hermione was waving a book around, as if to prove her point, the sun reflecting off the gold lettering on the front. As Molly watched Percy nodded eagerly, his mouth forming a reply which caused the two of them to collapse with laughter.

Her attention was caught by a twin - she couldn't tell the difference from this distance - wielding a Beaters bat, smacking a Bludger with a satisfying crack. Bill twisted around the ball, his purple cloak billowing around him, and shot the red Quaffle smoothly through the makeshift goal hoop. Arthur applauded (stopping abruptly when his four sons on the opposing team glared at him) and Harry and Ginny cheered, surging towards Bill to exchange high-fives. The twins dragged Ron over to Charlie for what Molly assumed to be a re-evaluation of their game plan.

However, it didn't seem to work - Ginny and Bill scored continually, Ginny slipping through the tiny holes in their defence and Bill simply charging like a bull in a china shop, as Harry swooped around, waving a neon coloured bat in a seemingly random fashion. Molly wasn't sure if the Bludgers or simply Harry's bat alone would prove to be more of a threat to Charlie's team. Arthur's cheers were few and far between; he just didn't know which of his children to support. After being utterly thrashed for half an hour, Ron waved his arms in surrender, and slowly the seven fliers descended down to earth, chattering loudly, all trying to be heard at once.

Molly saw the first spots of rain appearing on the window as the brooms, balls and bats were packed away. The instant the key turned in the lock of the shed, the clouds cracked open and emptied their load over the ten people outside; the dawdling walk towards the house instead became a hasty dash towards the nearest tree. She couldn't help but laugh as the group crammed themselves under the branches of the oak tree. Hermione was looking panicked and her mouth was moving a mile a minute - Molly guessed she was either berating herself for leaving her wand inside, rendering her unable to charm them all to remain dry, or was worried that her book was wet. (She hoped it was the former.)

The torrential downpour only lasted a few minutes; the rain thinned out slightly until it was merely drizzling in a continuous drone. The sun was glinting through the raindrops, creating a dazzling display of bright white flashes, much like a million wizards all incanting 'Lumos' at once. The rain had increased the quality of Molly's view across the surrounding land - all of the dirt had been washed away, making the colours seem sharper. The scene before her was now, if possible, even more perfect, with the sun shining, hanging high above the thick layer of stormy cloud, complete with the vivid rainbow arching gracefully through the patchy blue and grey sky.

Yet Molly still seemed oblivious, looking down instead of forwards.

She recognised the smirks on the faces of the twins at the back of the crowd - it didn't matter which was which, that expression only meant trouble - and cringed slightly, unable to stop whatever it was they were undoubtedly planning. Both of them slowly reached up and wrapped their arms around the branch above the heads of the cluster of people. Suddenly they began to jump, and the branch they were clinging on to showered thousands more raindrops over the huddle. Through the open window, Molly heard the girls scream, the boys yell, and the twins cackle delightedly, and she couldn't resist giggling a little at the appearance of the bedraggled group below her.

As she laughed, Fred saw her framed in the window. "Mum!" he yelled, and nine other faces turned towards her, all of them wearing identical grins and waving enthusiastically.

Molly's face split into a beautiful smile. She didn't need the perfect view of the amazing landscape. She didn't need to look ahead - all she needed was right here.

Her family, coloured with love

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**margenotbutter**


	14. Charlie Weasley

**Disclaimer:**** Harry Potter universe does not belong to me. All belongs to JK Rowling. I am not making any money off this piece of fan fiction.**

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14. Charlie Weasley

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It was pouring down rain, and the only thing that was racing through ten-year-old Charlie's mind was that he desperately wanted to go outside.

"No, dear," his mother had said sternly to him. "It wouldn't do for you to catch a cold."

And that was that; a mother's voice was Law, and Charlie particularly did not want to face his mother's wrath if she caught him going outside in this dreadful weather.

_Actually, _he thought, _this is great weather; because after it rains, a rainbow appears out of nowhere._

His father had told him when he was younger that because so many people despised the rain, that Merlin himself decided to let them look forward to rain.

So Merlin lassoed a Hungarian Horntail dragon--without magic--and rode the magnificent beast up to the heavens. Together, Merlin and his companion painted a beautiful arc of many colors once the rain had lessoned.

And thus, the origins of the rainbow.

After hearing that story from his father, Charlie decided that he wanted to lasso a Hungarian Horntail, too, and paint a beautiful rainbow in the sky just like Merlin had.

When he had voiced his hopes at the dinner table, everyone was feeling indifferent.

"If you're going to lasso a dragon, Charlie," his father had said, beaming. "You'll have to start out smaller, so you can practice. And you'll have to practice your magic so you can paint that rainbow of yours, too."

The younger-Charlie had frowned whilst eating his mashed potatoes and gravy. "Who said I was going to use _magic_?"

His mother had nearly fainted on that note.

Back to the present, Charlie looked out the window again to see--to his delight--that the rain had lessoned to a soft drizzle mist. He grinned with excitement before standing up, pulling on his boots, hat, and scarf. He grabbed his broom from the hallway closet as he ran for the door.

"Mum! I'm going outside now!" he yelled over his shoulder, and exited the house, not waiting for his mother to answer.

He mounted his broom (secretly pretending it was a massive dragon) and soared high into the air. The feeling of the warm mist on his hands and face encouraged his spirits more.

He flew on his dragon, directing it high up in the sky. When he looked across the countryside, a splash of color appeared in the short distance.

He grinned excitedly and patted his dragon. His dragon flew upwards before flying straight down--like an arc. He directed his dragon to ease back into horizontal position.

When Charlie looked behind him, up at the sky, there was a beautiful rainbow full of wondrous colors. He whooped in triumph and he and his dragon landed back in his backyard.

Still grinning delightfully, Charlie dismounted his broom and ran back into the house.

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By Amee C

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**Amee C's Notes:****I love this idea very, very much. Now I'm hooked on Charlie Weasley. Maybe I'll write more future fics about him.**

**General A/N:**** Please don't forget to leave reviews!**


	15. Severus Snape

**Disclaimer: We own nothing JK Rowling invented, we just like to play with her ideas**

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**15. Severus Snape**

Mist of ever color swirl all around me and I breathe in the fumes as if I am breathing for the first time.

Potions of bright pinks and deep blues boil around me. Only mine is the correct shade of shimmering emerald. I look across the room to see a pair of eyes the same color winking at me with pleasure. The same dark jade that catches brighter flecks of shocking green in the light.

Lily points into her own cauldron and shoots me a thumbs up.

Her potion is the right color too.

A multicolored haze hangs over our head, every color imaginable shimmers above us as magic peeks between the clouds, almost hiding its dazzling beauty in fear.

There is a glorious red that is the same soft shade of Lily's curls. The color surrounds me, suffocating me as it twists and turns in front of my face mockingly. I whisper into it like I whisper into her hair when she cries on my shoulder. Her tears as blue as the smoke washing over me, leaving the same salty taste in my mouth.

I can only watch the rare pale white vapor as it disappears rapidly among more dominate colors, as fragile as her ivory skin. Too delicate to be touched.

I am surrounded by a rainbow of her every color.

Lily's rainbow.

Potter's bubbling liquid is giving off a rotten smell as he sends dark billowing clouds through my rainbow, coloring it black.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

I am alone in my office, a large cauldron before me.

Clockwise once.

Counterclockwise twice.

It is no longer an art.

It is a science.

I no longer brew them for love of the practice. I brew them for love of her memory. I no longer brew them to impress her, but to supress my anger.

I still brew for hope that she will someday forgive me.

Clear steam billows about the room, chasing the dreaded color away as a Patronus chases a Dementor.

My life is now black and white. All colors died the night she did. It hurts too much to try to feel anymore. So instead I kill the colors with black as the white disappears into nothing as I brew for hope that Lily's rainbow will return.

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**By Padfootatheart**

**A/N: Alright, hope you enjoy my sad fascination for black and white themed writings. Also for the whole Severus/Lily dealo…I just can't help but love it!**


	16. Ginny Weasley

**Disclaimer: We own absolutely nothing**

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**16. Ginny Weasley**

**Rainbow:--**

**Definition:** _1)_ A bow or arc of prismatic colours appearing in the heavens opposite the sun and caused by the refraction and reflection of the sun's rays and drops of rain. _2)_ An illusionary hope; 'Chasing Rainbows'.

**Thesaurus:**_ 1)_ Chimera, _2)_ Dream, _3)_ Fantasy, _4)_ Illusion, _5)_ King's Ransom, _6)_ Land of Milk and Honey; the Promised Land, _7)_ Motley, _8)_ Pie in the Sky, _9)_ Fantastical Wish.

**Summary:** After HBP, Ginny starts thinking. About everything – about You-Know-Who, about the prophecy, about… life with Harry after the war. Because we all need our dreams; because we all need to chase our rainbows.

Dear Diary,August 1997

Harry left today. He left to fight You-Know-Who, or Lord Voldemort as I'm meant to call him. Dumbledore, and, well, Sirius too, I suppose, used to say that fear of a name only serves to increase the fear of the thing itself, and that I should be brave enough to call him Lord Voldemort, his name. To me, it isn't a matter of bravery, so much as that's just who he _is_, who he's always _been_. I've grown up knowing him as "You-Know-Who" and not "Lord Voldemort", so my calling him that isn't a sign of cowardice, so much as what comes natural to me; just to point it out.

Merlin, I miss Dumbledore, and especially Sirius. I hadn't known him for long, but Harry's Godfather kind of grew on all of us.

Harry. What if he dies? What if he never comes back? Merlin, I hate him. I hate him for not letting me come; I hate him for making me worry; I hate how I could never feel like this for anyone but him. I hate how he made me love him, and then he left. He left , and he took Ron and Hermione… but he wouldn't take me. Sure, he had his little 'reasons', but since when have I cared about that? Since when could Ron and Hermione do things I can't? Well, maybe Hermione, but Ron? I'm just as good!

I wonder what Harry's doing right now; could he be sitting, thinking of me as I am of him? Or would he be fighting the Dark, all thoughts of me out his mind? Or worse; could he be with another girl, in her arms as we speak? What if he finds another witch while he's out there, experiencing the world? A girl better than me; prettier, smarter, older – one more worthy to fight by his side. I don't imagine it'd be pretty hard to find a girl that's prettier – with my painfully obvious flame-red hair, common brown eyes and freckly skin, I'm not drop-dead gorgeous; he's traveling all over the world to find the Horcruxes; there's plenty of 'fish in the sea', or so to speak, plenty of girls who'd _die_ to date him.

Oh Merlin, I blew it, didn't I?

Or am I being too overly dramatic? Maybe, as I sit here in my white cotton pajama bottoms and black spaghetti strap top, thinking and worrying and panicking over him, he's sitting somewhere out there, thinking and worrying and panicking over _me_. And only me. Just the thought of it sends a flurry of warmth down to my toes! I only you could see me right now, diary, you'd see how wide my smile is.

Maybe when he comes back after the war, bruised but alive, he'll sweep me up into his arms and tell me he loves me, he loves me and he'll never leave me again. Then he'll hug me so hard, it'll hurt, but I won't mind because it'll bring me only closer to him.

Maybe one day we'll get married – it doesn't have to be anything fancy, simple works best for me (I'm a Weasley, aren't I?) as long as my family and friends are there, which, in itself, will make the ceremony a big one. Maybe one day we'll have kids; I imagine Harry'd want kids…

Maybe I'm getting a little carried away here.

It would not do to drive myself to obsession now, would it? Not when he's only just left, and his return, if all (how morbid!), would be so far away. He may not even want love, either, he may wish to be a recluse, hiding away from everyone, as it's only his right to. And who am I to challenge that? To challenge him?

As bad as that would be, it would also not do for me to get my hopes up. Just because Harry Potter returns and wants love, a family, doesn't mean he'll want _me_, choose _me._ And now we've returned to my doubt, that nagging little thing that destroys my dreams and crushes my fantasies. What if I'm not good enough for him after he defeats Lord Voldemort? I've always had this doubt – Little Ginny Weasley good for the Boy-Who-Lived? Never! – but now, at this point in time, that horrible little creature seems to have amplified, creating an overly-large feeling of self doubt in the back of my mind, magnifying itself times one thousand.

I can hear them all now, laughing at my expense, at my _unworthiness_. They're all saying, 'and what has _she_ done to earn his love, his respect? What has she done to aid him in his time of need?' and all I'd have to say is that I'd admired him from afar for six years before ruining any chance I might have had then.

And then another voice will pop into my mind, saying I mightn't have lost my chance at all, that I must merely wait for his return.

But all this is repetition, isn't it? And repetition of the utmost bore, too. And there is no point in sitting here, dreaming of what may, or may not, come to pass, not when there's a war to fight. There is no use in chasing rainbows, an illusion, a fantasy, because like all dreams, I'll have to wake up sometime, won't I? And then I'll have to face the harsh truth o reality, and my illusion, my rainbow, will be crushed.

Rainbows are fickle things, aren't they? They enchant you with their pretty colours, making you believe in the pot of gold at it's end, fascinating you, you who has had to endure the rain to find the rainbow, and then… after awhile… they disappear, as though they never were, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness.

Maybe Harry does love me, or maybe he doesn't, but it's no use chasing my rainbow to find out. I'd better just wait 'till the rain's over and find the pot of gold myself.

Love,

Ginny.

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**By CaramelBoost**

**Caramel: Ok, let's pretend Harry told Ginny about the Horcruxes, alright? It's not my best work but… it's better than nothing, and I selfishly couldn't bear to give up my hold on Ginny… ::ducks head in shame:: Review, please!**


	17. Regulus Black

**Disclaimer: As usual, we own nothing.**

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**17.Regulus Black**

He slips his arm around her and feels her head lean against his shoulder. Rain pelts the window pain and her eyes are glazed over as she watches, probably deep in thought. Regulus sighs; so much for their Hogsmeade weekend.

All he wants is a quiet, carefree weekend with his girlfriend, but now the rain washes away all his plans. And his troubles soon pelt him like the rain to the glass outside. His older brother's treacherous ways sting like icy cold hail. His mother's demands of proper behaviour booms like thunder. The best wishes of his friends and girlfriend conflict, causing his insides to feel as though a tornado has ripped through.

And the cold, ruthless encounters he has had while attending the Death Eater meetings leave him with the ultimate chill.

"Don't you love the rain?" his girlfriend whispers, tilting her head to look up at him. His heart leaps up into his throat at the sight of those clear, bright blue eyes. Eyes such a vivid blue that they will remain etched into his mind's eye forever. "C'mon, let's go for a walk!"

She pulls him to his feet and leads him to the door of the Slytherin common room. They slip out unnoticed, and she takes off at a mad dash, laughing with joy as he follows along behind her. Her love of laughter and joy of life lifts his heavy heart for a brief moment, she gives his heart wings in the moments it plumages to its lowest.

She pushes open the doors to the grounds and continues to run outside. She doesn't stop until she's past the green houses and in the clearing behind them. Out of breath, Regulus catches up with her at last. There's a stitch in his side, but he won't let that bother him.

"C'mon Regulus! Come dance with me!" She says, lifting her arms as she spins. Her school uniform is dark and wet, and it clings to her, her brown hair is plastered to her face by the rain, but her blue eyes glitter with delight. She couldn't be anymore beautiful to him than she is in this moment.

"Regulus Black, are you listening to me?" Her voice pulls him out of his thoughts, back to the present.

Ironic, isn't it, that his family name should be Black in a time when the world is filled with black and white. A world in which each choice, each decision is either black or white, right or wrong. And one action could sentence you to a lifetime of duty to one side of the war.

He takes her hand and pulls her close. One of his hands is clasped with hers, the other rests on her waist. He hums softly in her ear as he leads them in a slow dance. She puts her free hand on his shoulder and leans her head against his chest and then she sighs in content.

He stops, but he doesn't let go. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulls her closer to him and then stands there, listening to the sound of the rain hitting the ground. He doesn't know how long they stand there, but at last the rain is reduced to a mere drizzle. She pulls away and looks up at him, a soft smile tugs on her pale lips. Raindrops slide down her freckled face. He chases a drop of rain down her pale cheeks with his thumb.

He drops his hands, freeing her from his grip. Behind her, is an archway of colour that lightens the grey sky. A rainbow. It is dull and pale as it hides behind the misty veil, but it is still there. A reminder that even when things are at their most grey and bleak, there is still colour, still hope, no matter how faint.

And suddenly, in his world of black and white, there's a little more colour.

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**By ChatterChick**

**A/N: I thought it was strangely fitting that it was raining while I wrote this, and that it stopped when I was done. Hope you enjoyed it!**


	18. Barty Crouch Junior

**Disclaimer:**** All characters, settings and anything else recognizable from Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling, and we make no claim on her ideas.**

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**18. Barty Crouch**

**Rainbow: In The Attic.**

There are colours in the dust…

Even when he looks back on it, the attic seems to him to be a place of safety and security. A place of mist and swirling clouds, of soft autumn colours, the brown wooden boards, the small window in the roof. Its safe here, although he knows he's trapped, trapped in his mind under the Imperio curse and trapped in his body in the room.

The sun streams down through the window, making a patch of the wooden floor suddenly golden. He closes his eyes and sees red and blue afterglow. The dust swirls slightly where his hand scuffs the boards.

It's a drowsy world, a swirling, swimming world, a world that lives in the time between sleeping and waking, the space inside a mirror.

Sometimes he thinks he can hear birdsong. Sometimes the sound of a dripping tap. Sometimes he can hear laughter from far away, or the hum of an aeroplane passing overhead.

But that might mean nothing, because he also hears Bellatrix's laugh and Lucius's drawl in the times when he's sleeping (or is he awake? Is the attic the place he goes when he's asleep?). He hears his father's voice, his mother sobbing, and all of the sounds float dreamily in his head, unconnected to the world above, the world around.

It's almost like living underwater, in a blue-green silence of a perfect globe. Stretched and distorted, the time flows lazily by, like treacle poured from a spoon.

The house-elf brings him some food. He doesn't always see it come in, but when he next looks there's a plate of leftovers and a cup of water, standing in the golden glow of the sunlight.

Clumsily, shakily he reaches out an arm to take it. It's like working through thick rubber gloves, in a world only vaguely connected to this one. He keeps waiting for himself to wake up.

And then there's another part of him suddenly. In the soft marshmallow heaven the curse creates there's a sharp bitter tang. The remains of his consciousness, fighting desperately, struggling to get out.

He shakes his head, not sure whether he's trying to get rid of the fluff or the painful attempts at freedom.

His arm gives a violent shudder, and the cup falls, the water arcs through the air and suddenly there's a soft hazy note of colour as, briefly, the light shines through the falling arc. 

Then it's gone, and he's back in the cloudy haze, back in the dull attic room. The sun goes behind a cloud. He hears the drone of a lawnmower mingled with Regulus's excited chatter.

But somehow, he can still see the rainbow.

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By Prieda Solo

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	19. Bellatrix Lestrange

**Disclaimer: We own nothing even remotely associated with Harry Potter. It all belongs to the Genius that is JK Rowling.**

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**19. Bellatrix Lestrange**

**Author's note: **I was delighted to write this oneshot, I have always wanted to explain Bellatrix's depth of character and the suffering that her decisions inevitably caused her. I hope you all enjoy, it is very short but did not need to be extended for mere word count.

Bellatrix made tea for two. Handed one to her husband and one to the Dark Lord; black with two sugars, just as he liked it.

Black hair spilling over blood red silk, Bellatrix stalked fears and desires in the in-between hours, old loves and old regrets are neutralized now. Frozen like Muggle photographs in the deep recesses of her mind, the old staring helplessly into the new. She lazily flicks her wand at family portraits, erasing the smiling faces of someone who was once her sister. She lies on wilted sheets, caressing her dark mark like the hair of a lover, unable to conceive a child in her constant state of hatred. A life filled with corroding envy, unspeakable desires and violence, never holding onto anything yet always letting go. A perfectly manicured hand controls the wand that ends countless lives, envious of the way the dead still live amongst their loved ones, while she alone tiptoes a path that could not be considered living.

Finding pleasure in the misfortune of others, there would be no happiness in this life, only deep cravings of unease. Stealing a glance toward the sky, the rain has stopped its downwards spiral, yet Bellatrix cannot see the **rainbow** stretched amongst the pewter and cobalt.

Bellatrix made tea for two. Handed one to her husband and one to the Dark Lord; black with two sugars, just as he liked it.

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**By Frayed Misfit**


	20. Katie Bell

**Disclaimer: We make no claim whatsoever on JK Rowling's ideas.**  
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**20.Katie Bell**

_"Look, isn't it beautiful?" Leanne smiled as she pointed to the stretch of colour across the sky._

Katie bit her lip. Of course rainbows were beautiful. Whenever the rain had calmed and the Sun was shining when she was younger, she would always run out into the fields and stretch her arms out towards the watery-blue sky to try to touch the rainbow.

But times had changed since then. Rainbows weren't a sign of happiness and light to Katie anymore; there were dark and empty, a reminder of death, as if someone had flown across the sky and painted all rainbows black.

The last thing that she saw before she was Imperiused and touchedthe cursed necklace was a rainbow. All she could see was a dazzling array of colour, a swirl of reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blues and violets shining before her.

And then her memory went blank.

When she woke up in StMungo's a few weeks later she was sure she was dead. The rainbow must have killed her, because there was nothing else there, only a rainbow, so bright and shinning that its colours seemed to mock her.

However, her mother then walked into the room, eyes blurred with tears, and hugged her daughter. Perhaps the latter wasn't dead after all.

But the next time Katie saw a rainbow, without even thinking, she clung onto a nearby tree, shaking with fear, just waiting for her mind to go blank again. Just waiting for that rainbow to kill her.

Of course, it never did kill her, and later that day, once the rainbow had disappeared, Katie thought she must be foolish to think such a thought. She shook her head. What eighteen year old girl was afraid of rainbows? People would laugh at her, think she was crazy. She promised herself that the next time she saw a rainbow, she wouldn't be scared, she would gaze up at it likeeveryone else and marvel at its beauty.

But her love for rainbows was now fake and badly forged. Maybe one day she would tell someone about her fear.

_"Look, isn't it beautiful?" Leanne smiled as she pointed to the stretch of colour across the sky.  
Katie bit her lip. "Yeah, it's lovely."_

Or maybe some things were best kept secret

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**Heart4Happiness**


	21. Salazar Slytherin

**Disclaimer: If you recognise it as something that JK Rowling invented, we do not own it. We just enjoy playing with her marvellous ideas. **

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**21.Salazar Slytherin**

**Note**: We make reference to Forest Gump. I know he wasn't created for centuries after this is set, but we don't care. Oh, and, for this fic, we're pretending Hogwarts wasn't the first Magic school, okay?

Enjoy:)

Salazar's thoughts: _italics_.

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"Sally-zar?"

_Oh, bugger all._

"Sally-zar?"

Salazar Slytherin leapt up from where he was quietly sitting in his common room and dived behind the couch. Why, oh, _why_ did she have to like _him_ of all people? He heard footsteps, causing him to crawl quickly away, down and around the corridor.

"Sally?"

A stream of swear words were muttered under his breath as he snagged his knee on an askew nail in the hard, wooden floor boards. He continued down the corridor but didn't make it all the way to his room before being caught.

"Sally! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Kimberly Chestnut was nuttier than her last name. She had long blonde hair, shiny blue eyes and a very large crush on Salazar. She was known for her obsession when it came to crush victims. The whole population, save a few, of Leamington's House of Magic pitied Salazar. He was in deep trouble.

"I tried looking in the owlery, but you weren't there and – Sally-zar? What are you doing on the floor?"

_Hairy dingbats._

"Oh, err, nothing."

"Oh, okay."

She helped him up off the floor, even though he insisted that he didn't need the extra help, and then flicked her golden hair over her shoulder. Salazar brushed down his trousers and straightened up. Kimberly was looking at him straight in the eye. It was becoming quite disconcerting. Salazar shifted in her gaze for a few minutes. He was starting to feel ill. It was probably her perfume.

"Sally-zar! Come back!"

Kimberly watched her 'boyfriend' sprint past her and down around the corner.

Salazar had to get away. She was seriously bothering him.

He ran down the stairs to the Common Room. There were people everywhere. They all turned at the sound of his heavy footsteps and stared in shock. Suddenly, pity formed on faces all around the room. Salazar didn't stop. He kept running. He got to the portrait hole, only to find it jammed.

"Sally-zar?"

All the heads turned to see Kimberly running down the stairs, hot on his trail. As if they had all planned it before-hand, the occupants of the common room made it their job to slow her down. One boy, who was standing on the same flight of stairs as Kimberly, dropped his books all over the floor and purposely got in her way to pick them up.

"Get out of my way!" she yelled, pushing him onto the floor and stepping over him.

The next person to come to his rescue was a tall seventh year girl. She walked up to Kimberly and started pulling at her hair. "Wow! What conditioner do you use, Kimberly. Your hair looks really good!"

Salazar gave a harsh tug at the portrait hole and it slid open a little further. He could almost put a whole leg through.

Kimberly lost herself for a moment. "Oh, I use _Gina's._ It's really great."

Another good pull and it was almost big enough. _One more..._

"Oh, cool."

The last tug made a loud scraping noise, causing Kimberly to snap back to reality. "Sally-zar! Where are you going?"

"To Hell!" Salazar declared, realising the gap was still too small.

"Why? You're _my little angel_."

Salazar pulled sharply on the portrait again, his energy newly restored by the bare idea that even through death, he couldn't quite escape. Kimberly was shifting closer. One step closer and it would all be over. Then the seventh years did something very unusual. They threw themselves down onto the floor in a pile, blocking the way to the portrait hole where Salazar was desperately throwing himself at the door, forcing it open.

"Get off the floor, you idiots!" Kimberly yelled, trying to bat them away.

The rest of the students had followed the seventh years' display and had all gathered around in a wall, trying to spare Salazar, their almost-King. Three boys ran up to Salazar and joined him.

"Okay!" said Salazar. "On three...one...two...three!"

The four boys all pushed on the portrait and the wood pulled out of the wall and hit the floor with a tremendous thud. But the human wall was weakening. Kimberly had her wand out and was blasting people aside. Salazar scrambled out of the portrait hole and into the stone corridor of Leamington's House of Magic.

"Sally-zar! Wait for me!"

_I'll do nothing of the sort._

He quickly looked around and decided to run towards the stairs instead of into a classroom. He didn't want to face a blocked end. He kept running until he heard a mighty crash. He cursed as he realised he was only a few meters away from where he had started. He turned quickly and saw a few tall seventh and sixth years tumble out of the hole that was once covered by a portrait of a goat lady.

"Run Forest, run!" a fellow fifth year called as he mad a mad dash around the corner.

He started hearing hundreds of footsteps and shot a look over his shoulder. The corridor was filled with people running behind him. To his dismay, Kimberly was leading the pack and she looked ready to kill. He sped on, down three flights of stairs and over to the Dining Hall. Luckily, somebody was opening the door as he came past, giving him a few seconds of extra time to find a hiding spot.

"Salazar?" somebody said from one of the tables. "What are you doing?"

Salazar turned to find Rowena Ravenclaw starting at him quizzically. He didn't have time to explain. He ran over to her and slid under the table.

"Wha-"

She didn't have time to finish. Salazar had grabbed her hand and tugged her under with him.

"Salazar!" she scolded. "You could at least warn me next time!"

Salazar clamped a hand over her mouth and put a finger to his lips. "Hiding from Kimberly," he said shortly.

She nodded and fell silent. Salazar removed his hand and peeked out from under the table. Hundreds of people were spilling into the Dining Hall. It was a Sunday, everybody was wearing casual. It looked like a **rainbow** from under the table. Kimberly was struggling against the crowd who were all trying to slow her down. Salazar smiled to himself.

_With friends like these, who needs escape routes?_

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**Written by: RabbitohsGirl and MentalLady (sisters!)**

Yep, it definitely wasn't our best. But, I guess that was all we could come up with :) Thanks for your reviews!


	22. Firenze the Centaur

**Disclaimer: We own nothing.**

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**22. Firenze the Centaur**

If there is one thing of which my people are certain, it is that all the truths of the earth are recorded in the affairs of the sky.

This is not, as some think, merely true of the night sky. We focus on the stars not because they alone hold knowledge, but because the knowledge that they hold is of great and momentous matters. That is why we scoff at human fortune-tellers who look to the stars to learn which robes they ought to wear, or where their mates are to be found; do they seriously believe that the ancient rhythm of the planets, or of the great and far-distant suns, was instituted from the beginning of time to be their personal day-planner?

To recognize this for the arrogant nonsense that it is, however, is not to say that the skies do not speak of small matters. All the truths of the earth are recorded in the affairs of the sky. The folly of the human "clairvoyants" is that they seek in the night sky what they ought to look for in the day; it is the ever-changing clouds, not the fixed and immutable stars, that serve as the celestial record of trivial and quotidian things.

Consider the skyscape before us now. It is unusually distinctive, as the clouds often are just after a rain shower. The round cloud just above us, for instance, suggests good progress for Hagrid's pumpkins over the next week; the ragged patch somewhat to the north of it likely indicates a significant Potions mishap within the next few days; and in the curious altocumulus pattern on the far western horizon, one may read, I believe, an unfortunate fate for the House of Gryffindor in the upcoming Quidditch match. These are just some of the visible indications; there are many others, and will be more as the clouds shift their shapes over the next half-hour.

What I will be having you do, therefore, is: select four or five students from among you to sketch the outlines of the more prominent clouds; Multiply their sketches so that each of you has a copy; and write out what meanings, if any, you can read in the shapes of the clouds. This is not, of course, an ideal method, as even the most skillful drawing of a cloud will inevitably omit some of the subtleties of the cloud's shadowing and light-play, but I believe it will be easier for you (both as youths, and as humans) to Divine from a shape that is not continually in motion. Are there any questions?

Yes, Miss Lovegood?

Ah, yes, the rainbow. Thank you, Miss Lovegood; you have identified the weakness in my easy formulation. When I spoke of the day sky as the record of varied and minor matters, I had quite overlooked the rainbow.

For the rainbow has ever only one meaning, and it is by no means trivial. The meaning of the rainbow is this: that the rains may fall heavily but will never overwhelm all things, that, though the rule of evil may be cruelly prolonged, eventually it must cease and be as yesterday's winds. For the Master of the Universe, who takes such care for the stars, and lets not one of them stumble from its fixed and rightful place, takes care also for all living things, and will not let them be swallowed by the forces of chaos and disorder.

This knowledge is a source of great joy to us centaurs, but it is not confined to us, of course. It is a pledge to all living things, and is known, in some way, by all of them. Professor Burbage tells me that even the Muggles, in their sacred writings, are told of a great deluge that came over all the earth, and how, when it was ended, the Master placed the rainbow in the sky as a sign that such trouble would never come again until all things were ended.

It is strange, in a way, that so frail and temporary a thing as the rainbow should be so great a sign of permanence and fidelity – but, perhaps, no stranger than that the weakest of beings should so often be called upon to be the salvation of the strongest.

For all the truths of the earth are recorded in the affairs of the sky

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**By Qoheleth**


	23. Minerva McGonagall

**Disclaimer: Everything you recognise as being related to Harry Potter was invented by JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**23.Minerva McGonagall**

Minerva McGonagall raised her arms, and pulled gently at the tartan scrunchie that secured her overtight bun. Her fingers slid underneath the tartan, reveling in the feel of silky smooth hair. She strode across the room, the resonance of her brisk footsteps echoing throughout the dusty chambers (she ought to find the time to at least perform a few simple cleaning spells). Underneath the window, through which the pale luminosity of the night-stars shone, lay her pride and joy, her baby, her easel.

She picked up the paintbrush which lay beside it, twirling it through her fingers, which, although aged and considerably more wrinkled than they had been twenty years ago, when she had first developed a love of painting, could still weave their own special type of magic.

Many people would be shocked to discover her love of painting, a pastime renowned for its beauty and finesse. The stern Transfiguration professor was illustrious for her stand against the Dark Lord, and, even more so, her ability to make seventh years, even Slytherins, quiver at the mere sight of her in a corridor. But to Minerva, painting was more than just a hobby. Painting was her way of expressing emotions. To her, it was a type of magic, more powerful, and more effective, than the uttering of spells under one's breath.

She dipped her paintbrush into the palette, every smooth motion of wrist illuminated by the moonlight. Minerva preferred to paint at night; something about the translucent beauty of the moon inspired her creative juices (though, at times, a steaming mug of coffee did help). She dragged it though the green first, each droplet clinging to her brush like a raindrop to a blade of fresh grass.

As Minerva lifted her paintbrush, she realised exactly how much the colour of the globules resembled that of the Slytherin banners that hung proudly amongst those of the other school houses in the Great Hall. To her, green was a sickly colour, the colour of wickedness and sin. Perhaps it was just her negative connotations of Slytherin house, and those who resided in its dreary dungeons. Four and a half years of teaching Draco Malfoy and his dim-witted cronies allowed you certain prejudices when it came to their house. Minerva knew that Pomona thought she was crazy, that green was a beautiful, natural colour, despite the fact that so many gits were allowed to besmirch it, but then again, Minerva secretly agreed with the musings of several students: her best friend was a 'batty old plant lady'

Green reminded her of other things as well, such as mushy peas drowned with gravy. Not that she would even mention such a horrid dish anymore, every since she had spat her dinner all over the table after Albus had whispered a crude joke about Umbridge in her ear.

Albus shared a lot of jokes with her; it was one of the things that she found attractive about him, his wicked sense of humour. She knew that many people thought him mental, perhaps even unstable, but to Minerva, his eccentricity was just a part of his charm. Not that she had ever managed to utter such truths. It stuck her as kind of ironic that while she managed to strike fear into many a person, even Tom Riddle (she found that hideous alias he had created for himself disconcerting), she could utter a few simple words to the one she loved.

She was painting without thinking really, just allowing the brush, guided subconsciously by her hand, to dance all over the canvas, as though it was performing a ballet, complete with miraculous leaps and twirls.

She leaned over, her long brown tresses falling in her eyes and obscuring her vision. For some reason, the moonlight that was flowing through the window seemed to shine directly on the pink, so she chose that next. Pink was also a colour she despised. It represented the colour of Lavender Brown's chipped nails as she held the latest copy of Witch Weekly under the desk. It was the colour of the flamingos that Hannah Abbott had accidentally conjured one lesson, and which Minerva had been forced to dispose of (she could only hope that the same incident did not occur during the OWL's). It was also the colour of Umbridge.

Pink really was the perfect colour for Umbridge. It was as sickly as the woman herself. Minerva loathed the woman, from the hideous bows that clashed with her hair to the feet that stormed down the corridor, looking for more innocent students to submit to unnecessary torture. It didn't help that the grumpy old toad insisted on making snide comments about Albus, and that she was powerless to impede them. Although if Umbridge said one more thing, than perhaps Severus would find a few bottles of his potions gone, and Minerva would find herself hovering over Umbridge's evening pumpkin juice, a malevolent grin marring her haughty features …

Next came yellow, bright and sunny. As she smeared the paint, far too vivid for the dimly lit room, across her painting, she pondered exactly why it was her favourite colour. Pomona had many snide comments relating to Minerva's love of yellow, most of them poking fun at her tartan clothes and room décor. But to Minerva, yellow was happiness. It was the colour of the sun, beating down on her back while she played Quidditch as a child (contrary to popular belief among her students, Minerva had ridden a broom before, and was not afraid of heights), the colour of sunflowers, the colour of cheese, melting on top of spaghetti.

The paint was spreading now, starting to form the silhouette of a person, although Minerva had no idea who it was reminiscent of. She knew the magic that resided in her fingers, and in the brush, would lead her to a conclusion eventually, and for now, she just wanted to enjoy the ride.

Yellow reminded her a lot of Albus Dumbledore himself too. It reminded her of trivial things, such as the Lemon Drops he was always offering (no matter how much she pretended she hated them, she loved them, simply because they reminded her of him – hence the packets stowed under her bed that no-one, not even her closest friends knew of). But really Albus was just yellow, not the colour, but a more a synonym for the feelings it provoked.

She was paying more deliberate attention to her painting now, watching, wide-eyed, as shapes and patterns formed. She was adding blue now, and it was giving a calming effect to her painting, much like it did in life. Blue didn't hold enough passion for her liking; it softened the brightness and the life that other colours were brave enough to possess. But there was one blue thing that she couldn't resist, no matter how much she tried … Albus' eyes.

Just the way that they twinkled drove her mad. Pomona and Rolanda could call her an obsessive freak (among other, more sardonic nicknames), all they wanted, but she knew that they really were empowering; they caused her heart to beat faster and to surge every time they connected with her deep, meaningful brown eyes.

The next colour that oozed from the tip of her paintbrush was purple, the colour of hope. Every time Hogwarts seemed in disarray, Albus would sweep through the door, wearing those bright purple robes that Minerva found all too ludicrous and exuberant, and everything was alright. She knew that he wore them because he found them to match his personality, and while she knew it was true … she couldn't help but be repulsed by the brightness of it all.

Then came orange, which frankly she hated. It reminded her of petty trivialities, such as Halloween, the one holiday of the year that irked her no end. It was a stupid holiday, doing nothing but causing several pumpkins to face unnecessary torture and encouraging young children to beg. Albus condoned it too, even though he knew how much it irked her, but she could never stay mad at him for long.

And lastly, there was red. Red conveyed so much to Minerva as she plastered broad stripes of it across her masterpiece, which was starting to take the form of a familiar face. Red meant love, and passion, two things that Minerva longed for and revelled in above all other. It was also the colour of angry, the colour or bravery and chivalry, the colour of a war.

Red was the colour of Arthur's blood, dripping from his wounds that one time she had visited him in hospital. Red was the colour of Harry's scar, showing just how much the poor boy had to suffer. Red was the colour her Gryffindors wore in pride when they won a Quidditch match and in shame when they lost their house points.

Red was everything Minerva was fighting for. And that's when she realised how much Albus and painting meant to her, and why they were her two great loves. They made her forget about all the tragedy that was currently tearing apart lives, and they made her happy, gave her something else to fight for …

Stunned with the sheer force of her revelation, Minerva placed her paintbrush down, ignoring the fact that giant drops of red were dripping to the floor like blood. She stepped back, ready to admire her painting.

A smile formed, first in the corners of her mouth, then spreading across her face. Albus smiled back at her, his blue eyes seeming to twinkle like the stars.

Without even realising, she had painted her one true love standing under a rainbow.

And the more Minerva mused, the more she realised how fitting that was. Albus was the quintessence of a rainbow; he signified every colour in full. Because like a rainbow, Albus stood for hope, for compassion, for love and trust.

"You know Minerva, if you wanted a rainbow, you could just conjure one"

Albus' voice broke through her thoughts. She turned around to find him standing there, looking exactly as the picture depicted him.

"How long have you been standing there?"

He did not answer; instead he looked at her curiously, the moonlight shining brightly on his snow-white beard.

"I'm curious," he said, "why did you paint me of all people?"

"Because … because," she stammered, in a completely uncharacteristic display. Minerva always knew what to say, and she rarely stumbled over her words.

"Because I love you"

The words came out bolder than she meant them to; she was almost blown over by the vigour behind them. She glanced at Albus, trying desperately to gauge his reaction. He was stroking his beard, almost as though some miraculous thought had come to him.

"I love you too"

They were some of the most simplistic words she had even heard him speak, but they seemed some of the most powerful she had ever heard erupt from his mouth.

And as their lips met in a passionate embrace, Minerva could feel her heart explode and she saw rainbows. They filled the shadowy night sky with blazes of colour as she kissed him, more passionately than she had ever kissed anyone before (and, once again, despite popular belief, she had kissed other people, and not just her crotchety old grandmother).

And when they pulled apart, both of them wearing colossal grins, Albus flicked his wand, and caused yet another rainbow to appear in the sky above them, as though shining down on them from heaven.

"A beautiful rainbow for a beautiful person," he said, pointing towards it with a graceful wave of him arm, before leaning down for yet another kiss.

"I don't need a rainbow, I've got you"

And as Minerva entwined her hands with his, she smiled, almost as brightly as the rainbow herself, thinking of what Pomona, Rolanda, and, even more hilariously, Umbridge, would think tomorrow morning.

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**By Cuban Sombrero Gal**

**Authors Note: Yeah, a nice fluffy ending for you all :)**

**Also, if you are wondering why I'm posting again, we are now offering a second round of character picking for people. So, if you're interested, please pop into the Reviews Lounge, and check out what characters are taken.**


	24. Mary Macdonald

**Disclaimer: We own nothing you recognise**

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**24. Mary Macdonald.**

She always thought her life was picture perfect.

She was a top student in primary school, academic, popular, and beloved. Teachers said she had real potential, classmates that she was fun to be around. Creative, inventive, talented in the most curious ways—her marks were high, her ideas brilliant, and everyone expected to see great things from her.

That all changed when Mary Macdonald boarded a train at King's Cross.

She was pretty, it could not be denied. Glossy brown hair that fell past her shoulders and proud brown eyes against a tanned complexion—it was true. Didn't change how she was poor with a wand and didn't stand out against the Hogwarts crowd.

It was vibrancy she lacked, Mary supposed. She was good enough to pass but lacked the magic of those around her, and it disappointed rather than angered her because she missed the cookie-cutter lifestyle she so loved.

Once, she was unique for seeing the world in shades of gray—that was what the Muggles could not do. But it seemed she had left behind the standard rainbow colors in her haste to prove herself in a community to which she no longer belonged.

Even around her friends Mary paled in comparison—but perhaps that was only to be expected. She stuck by Lily at first, Lily of the red and green, always overshadowed, always outshined by the embodiment of radiance. And yet there was no leftover fire; but perhaps she should have seen that coming from the likes of Severus Snape.

She didn't protest when they hexed her, called her Mudblood. She didn't make a fuss when she only scraped three O.W.L.'s. She didn't even wonder why she was never invited into the Order as she watched her friends trickle into it one by one.

She was nothing special, after all. Just a spectator, a minor character, meant to only watch the plot thicken and unfold.

Cookie-cutter and better off that way.

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**By -EHWIES**

**Author's Note: **For those of you interested, Mary Macdonald is actually canon. She was mentioned by Lily in Deathly Hallows.


	25. Andromeda Tonks

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Harry Potter… I am merely borrowing Jo's genus ideas for my own entertainment (and, assuming you like this story, your entertainment as well).**

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**25. Andromeda Tonks**

For so long, my life had been colorless. Black was more than just my surname—it was my constant mood. It surrounded me at all times, closing in on me from all sides. I was nothing special to my family—not as breathtakingly beautiful as blonde Narcissa, nor as perfect as Bellatrix, the first born. Instead, I was just Andy—the middle child with a nickname meant for a boy.

I was taught at home when I was little, and never before Hogwarts had I been to a school. Because of that, much of my childhood was spent indoors, listening to my mother praise my sisters and drop some not-so-subtle hints about how I could be a better daughter. However, no matter how much I tried, I was never good enough. And so, color and happiness both became harder and harder to come by.

For so long, my life was a simple black and white. I did as I was told, I never talked back, and I swallowed every bit of criticism from my mother. I knew that in the end it was easiest. But then, everything changed. Everything changed the summer before my seventh year.

It was in Diagon Alley that it happened. I remember everything about that day, as it was the day that my life made its colossal turn-around. I was walking past the menagerie when I ran head-on into someone. That someone was Ted Tonks, my own personal savior.

He began apologizing profusely as he gave me a helping hand to pick me up from the ground, and he insisted that he make it up to me by buying me some ice cream from Florean Fortescue's. I wasn't sure if it was something I should have been doing, but those thoughts didn't even cross my mind. Muggle-born or not, I was mesmerized by him—he was so cheerful, even though there didn't seem to be anything to be cheerful about. I envied that about him.

We began talking, and I learned that he was a 7th year Hufflepuff. As I myself was a Ravenclaw, I had never noticed him before, though I began wondering how I could have missed someone like Ted. He was so full of energy and happiness and… and color. And I'm not just talking about his electric blue eyes and golden hair, both of which were so directly in contrast with my own drab appearance.

We chatted for ages, and the hours slipped away. But I didn't care, nor did I even notice. I was just so caught up in Ted, and to my pleasure he seemed to be pretty interested in me, too. We made plans to meet again, on the first day of Hogwarts.

My final year at school went by in a blur. I knew only a few months into the year that I was in love with Ted. He made my life worth living, and even Narcissa's jeers about my "muggle friend" couldn't bring me down. Because I was in love, and that's what love does to people.

We got married shortly after we got out of school; not even a year had gone by before I was walking down the aisle. His parents thought we were being foolish and that we had jumped into it, but those judgments were nothing compared to what I was receiving from my parents. I was disowned, burned from the tapestry and discarded by them just as easily as I had discarded their name if favor the name Tonks. On the day of our wedding, I was finally freed of Black, both the name and the color, for good.

Nymphadora was born shortly after. I knew from the start that she was a special child. She was born with brown hair, which then promptly changed to blonde, then ginger, then purple. She was more colorful than anything I had ever seen, and I knew then and there that she was fantastic. No, she was more than fantastic…she was perfect.

Because she had become part of my personal rainbow, part of my family. She was part of my newly discovered color, along with Ted, bringing me out of my world of darkness. And I loved them both for that more than they will ever know.

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**By: purtyinpink71121**

**A/N: Reviews are greatly appreciated, and will give me a fantastic little ego boost… so review people!**


	26. Albus Dumbledore

**Disclaimer: I am not J.K Rowling and would not even attempt to impersonate her with polyjuice potion. Hence this is not her work**.

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**26. Albus Dumbledore**

_"Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak."_

Albus reclined in the chair by his office window, a knitting pattern book open on his desk, his gaze sweeping the Hogwarts grounds. His eyes rested on each figure for a slight second, running their name over his tongue, recalling a certain attribute of each, they were all his children.

There was Susan Bones; she liked to nibble on the ends of gingernut biscuits before dunking the rest in her early morning coffee. Her eyes were always curious and never stayed in one place for long.

Ah and there was Gregory Goyle, he was terribly afraid of the clanking suits of armor that lined the corridors, although Albus knew he would never admit this to anyone. He also had an affinity for purple socks, the reason for which was unknown.

Pomona Sprout was wandering gaily between her greenhouses, a large tin watering can clasped in her hand. She had only ever been in love with her plants, and she loved collecting Muggle hats, especially ones with curling ribbons.

There was little Colin Creevy, Albus knew he took his tea white with no sugar, he had said that milk was sweet enough; it was a clever little comment. He also folded his bed sheets back twice before leaving his dormitory.

Placing a struggling chocolate frog in his mouth, Albus pondered the importance of these seemingly mundane aspects of each person. It was what made them all individuals, he also felt extreme pride that they all found something that tickled their fancies, and it was these little things that meant so much in a tired and broken world.

_"Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light."_

Albus let his tears fall onto the moving photograph; it was as if they could wash away the pain he felt whenever he glanced into the depths of the eyes captured there.

His mother smiled back at him, her tight bun forcing lines to appear on the side of her brow, it was as if she could feel his guilt and begged him to remove it. He remembered her love of lemon tarts with a small dollop of cream, he remembered the way she held him when he was a small child and could not understand the ways of world.

His father too was smiling, yet his eyes carried the look of caution. He had gained a valuable lesson from his father's imprisonment, in everything you did, you could not be hasty or rash, these had the ability to cloud ones mind and evoke terrible crimes. Albus recalled his father cooking large stews and casseroles, his apron tied neatly in a bow.

Ariana seemed to be giggling in the photograph and lifted her small hand in a wave; her face portrayed no emotion in which he could grasp her feelings. Yet he was sure of his own feelings for her, mostly he was filled with regret, that he had not spent more time merely knowing her. He could see her fingers tracing rain drops down the window; her empty eyes watching them spiral to their death.

Aberforth had his eyes closed, impenetrable to Albus' provoking thoughts. He has learnt to distance himself from overwhelming desires, content to lead a relatively normal life with his goats and his Butterbeer. He could feel Aberforth's laughter when they were children and use to play as equals, brandishing toy wands like swords.

He let his tears fall freely onto his family, cleansing them of his guilt and his despair. Albus sat in darkness, the soft metallic clicks of magical objects his only comfort.

The light above him was thrown into sudden luminosity; he glanced up at Minerva as she approached his bent form. She had brought a tray of steaming soup and a hot tottie. Her face was kind and yet not sympathetic, she too had loved and lost, she could reach his pain without the need to express her pity.

"You only need to remember to turn on the light, remember Albus."

"Yes Minnie, I remember now."

"_It does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live."_

Albus pondered his jam cabinet, his eyes dancing between the rainbows of colour on display there.

First there was the blueberry jam, vibrant and sweet and the deepest shade of navy blue, it always smeared neatly onto toast like the night sky crawling across a sunset. Albus quite liked the blueberry jam; it reminded him of open fields and little rivers.

The marmalade was bitter and citric, its tang enlivening an unwary eater; it was best with large quantities of butter and always brought to mind a fleeting friendship or the touch of a hand. Its colour was a deep yellow, reminiscent of laughter and daffodils, Albus disliked the marmalade, it was too complicated and hasty.

Ah and the mint jam, almost jumping into Albus' hand, wanting to be tasted and enjoyed. Its shade was a lively green, confusing the eater into believing horrible things about its content merely because of its colour. The mint jam was actually quite pleasant when used sparingly on the crust of a loaf of bread, Albus enjoyed it as a snack when he was feeling down.

And the raspberry jam, a deep and inviting red. It had a sweet character yet people usually chose strawberry over it, because it also had a little tang, a bitter edge that no one expected. Albus was like the raspberry jam, there was more to him that what met the eye and there always would be.

"Raspberry Jam, Remus?" Albus asked, taking down the jar from its place in the rainbow, turning to face his friend.

_"For future reference, Harry, it is raspberry... although of course, if I were a Death Eater, I would have been sure to research my own jam preferences before impersonating myself."_

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**By Frayed Misfit**

**Author's note: I know this is completely mundane but that is how I see Dumbledore, noticing small things that actually do matter. Please read and review!!**


	27. Tom Riddle Jnr

**Disclaimer: Characters, settings and everything else you recognize belong to JK Rowling, we just like to play with her ideas. **

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**27. Tom Riddle Jnr**

The kids at his school constantly picked on him. They picked on him because he was shorter than they, his appearance shabbier than theirs, not bright red like Sam Donaldson's new jacket, or as clean as Else Sanson's blue jumper. At times like this, Tom Riddle personally felt the world and it's natural colours and hues dampen, become dark and unwelcoming, much like the faded school trousers he himself wore. They were supposed to be charcoal black, but had settled for a more unsettling shade of grey with much wear and tear from it's processors.

When Tom felt his world darken, as it had on that particularly rainy day, he would go to his small barely furnished room and get out one of the few things that belonged to him. It was a small, worn, multi-coloured leather bound book. He'd found it one day in one of the donations baskets for the orphanage, and had kept it close to him. He'd hidden it down his T - Shirt so that the matron wouldn't find out that he'd taken it.

Turning the first page of the book, Tom fancied that there was a rainbow of sparkles that followed, perfect for brightening up dark days. He'd always thought this when opening the book. These sparkles led the reader deeper into the book, a fascinating and colourful book on the magic of the rainbow! How peaceful and pretty such a thing was. The young Riddle wanted to catch a rainbow one day, to put it in a container so the majesty of the rainbow could be seen whenever he wanted to brighten his day, when there were people like Sam Donaldson mocking him for his faded green overcoat.

To people like Tom, books were a form of escapism. To escape the everyday mocking and teasing because he was an _orphan _child, housed in a dreary orphanage with strict matrons and second hand clothes. There was nothing new in the orphanage. So Tom escaped into the world of books, of being magical creatures soaring high above the clouds. Of wielding powers far beyond that of mere humans. Of being blessed by the God's themselves!

One day, not long before his ninth birthday, the book did something it hadn't before. It drew Tom in, not just in his mind, but also physically. He had become one with the book, experiencing the very essence of the rainbow. The bright hues of the reds, oranges and yellows, next to the less intimidating blues and greens. The colours were swirling around him, engulfing him and showing him a vast well of power within himself - a pool of the purest white destined to be one and many colours of the rainbow. When he left the book, he found that he could do things he could not before. He could make objects fly through the air without even touching them! This was far better than the feelings of despair when the Sam Donaldson's and Else Sanson's of his class mocked him for his faded clothes and his less than perfect life.

He'd show them what he could do! Make sure that they could not, _would not _mock him again. The book had unlocked a gift within him, one that could be utilised to help himself, to protect himself. And that's when it began.

Tom had developed his power. He could move more than just twigs in the air! He could move people. So he began to fight back, to become the bully that sought to torment him, and with the power the rainbow book had given him one by one he had terrified the children of the local school. His new stance within the school made the other students show him respect and he grew to love it, to adore how this respect made him feel. Powerful. And so he began his love affair with power, eventually leading him down a dark path. One that turned the pure white of his magical essence to the darkest of blacks, the barest hint of the rainbow magic that had begun his journey into the magical world remained.

After his status changed in the school the book had disappeared, lost to him forever. When Tom had discovered this, he felt the anger that someone must have stolen his belongings bubble up and burst out. This expelling of power had destroyed much of his room, and the hallway beyond. When the police and firemen came, they couldn't understand what had happened, and blamed it on a gas leak - despite the fact that there was no burn damage, nor was there any way for gas to enter his room without affected elsewhere first.

Tom Riddle vowed to himself that he once again find the book that gave him such power, such respect that had never been seen to him before. He never did, for the book only presented itself to people with a good heart, somewhere along the line Tom Riddle's young heart had blackened with want and desire for more power, ambitious for more respect. The book, such a vibrant book, dimmed until it was like every other book. Its own punishment for showing a young boy rainbow magic.

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**By RyanKathrynCelia**


	28. Sybill Trelawney

**Disclaimer:**** Characters, settings and everything else you recognize belong to JK Rowling, we just like to play with her ideas.**

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**28. Sybill Trelawney**

It was a cold, wet night. Sybill gathered her shawls about her more securely, stumbling just a bit as she shuffled over the uneven cobblestones beneath her boots. In nervous habit, she clutched the multitude of glass beads that hung about her neck, as she blinked owlishly at every shadow.

How it had gotten this late she didn't know. See, Sybill had a habit of misplacing her time, she didn't lose it no, no she just…couldn't remember what she'd done with it. Hiccupping once she continued on her path home.

She felt tired. More than she aught to, but she had been working hard to make ends meet as of late. That's why she was out at all this dreary night. Dumbledore actually replied to her application as Divination Professor! So she hastily made plans so meet him in the HogsHead Pub in Hogsmeade.

Sybill looked about again, before making a right turn. She didn't want to spend any more of the time she had left wandering the back streets of Hogsmeade. Pursing her lips, she tried to remember where she'd put that extra hour of hers. Lets see, she'd gone to the pub, met up with Dumbledore, they'd taken to a room for privacy and he conducted an interview of sorts. She didn't have her cards, or her crystal ball, she'd only had her utmost faith that the inner eye would guide her.

Sybill nodded to herself, peeking into a brimming dustbin. Nope nothing worth while tonight. She fingered her beads, her inner eye wasn't quite as reliable as her foremothers'. Sybill had learned that long ago, but her own mother had faith in her, and occasionally she truly could see things. Usually those visions were blurry and mismatched, but they were still there, and that kept Sybill sane. If she didn't have her inner eye well what would she have?

Dumbledore didn't seem to think along the same spiritual line as her, and thanked her for her time rather early on, before going to leave. This was the fishy part, after that Sybill couldn't piece together what had happened for all the galleons in Gringotts. He'd been just leaving and next thing she knew he was getting her a glass of water and negotiating a salary…

Very fishy, once she'd changed that order for water into a nice glass of sherry, they settled down to business and Sybill had a job. It was like magic really, Sybill chuckled and hiccupped again, banging open the gate of her rickety fence and wandering up the stone pathway.

Entering her home, she poked at her candles with her wand and they alit, bathing her rooms in soft shuddering light. Shucking her outer shawl, she hung it up by the door and rubbed her hands together. It was far too cool a night to just have her candles. Shooting sparks into the hearth a fire roared to life. Nodding in satisfaction she turned to her home. All her surfaces were scattered with candles of every shape and size, their wax dripping where it may, creating miniature stalactites on the edges of her bookshelves.

Sybill swept over to her favorite table, draped in scarves and adorned with the tools of her trade. She picked up her worn tarot deck and began to shuffle. Slumping into the throne style chair she had for her table, she stared into her crystal ball, watching the smoke swirl and twist. Sensing something was wrong, she cast about for a moment before sighing and pulling her wand out of her shawls once again. She prodded at the incense sitting at her side making it burn its heady scent into the air.

Once again satisfied, she turned back to her table and began to deal her cards face down. Eleven out, she set the deck down and turned the first card. She wanted to know what had gone on in her night.

The Three of Wands stared back at her. Unsurprising, opportunity was first to come knocking on her door. Taking up the next card, she flipped. King of Swords, yes, that was Dumbledore, intellect personified, he was the one who brought opportunity.

The Chariot was the next card, determination was what had brought her to the interview. She already knew that! Sybill was becoming impatient, yes she'd asked what had happened in her night, but she didn't need a total recap! Drawing the next card she huffed, The Hierophant, tradition. Of course, Divination was a tradition in her family, and so she'd gone to uphold tradition.

Now she almost lazily pulled the next card. The Two of Pentacles, how strange. How come she drew the card for change? What had changed exactly? Taking a deep breath she closed her eyes, concentrating on the card. Images flashed before her eyes, the sun, the moon, earth, wind, fire, water, she was losing control again, oh no, was this was had happened when she was with Dumbledore? More images passed before her eyes, faces, seers who'd come before her, suddenly it froze, black and white. She saw a small grubby room, Dumbledore and herself were seated at a table and she seemed to be in a trance.

Sybill's cheek twitched ever so slightly and she automatically drew the next card, still concentrating on the inner eye. The Four of Pentacles. Her fingers traced it out for her, Possessiveness. The Sybill in her mind took a shuddering breath and began to speak in a hoarse raspy voice, an echo of it's usual self. She rose up from the table, levitating as if weightless. Her hair flew about her, and a light seemed to be coming from the center of her forehead, the inner eye!

Drawing the next card, she felt it out too. The Star! Illumination! Sybill's mind was suddenly filled with light. She could see it all, the future the past the present, it was all around her, it was tangible, it was beautiful. The colours were so vibrant, red, yellow, green, purple, pink, orange, brown, blue, every one displayed in complete brilliance. Reaching out to the future she could almost touch them, almost catch a glimpse of what was to come, but when she got too close, the lights went out and she slumped in the darkness.

Smacking her lips together and giving a stretch, Sybill opened her eyes. Gasping she looked around, this wasn't her bed! She was still in her chair! What had happened? She righted her glasses and cast about her. That was funny, the candles had burned low and she'd only half completed her reading from her deck. Picking up the cards once more the laid out the last four. The six of Pentacles, generosity. The Emperor, achievement. The Moon, a night journey. The Hermit, introspection. Dumbledore's generosity with her job, her sense of achievement, her journey home in such confusion and darkness, and finally her own introspection that had caused her to turn to the cards. Looking over her cards again, she had fuzzy mixed feelings about the middle ones, but the beginning and end were very clear.

Sighing heavily, Sybill gathered up her cards again. Well it was worth a shot, but she was no closer to finding out what happened with her time, or how she'd gotten that job. Shuffling to her feet she wondered if she'd ever know, wondered if the inner eye was really there, or was she just a nonsense fool?

Extinguishing the candles and her fire, she gathered her skirts and made her way up stairs to bed. Looking out the stairwell window, she frowned, it was later than she thought! Dawn was breaking! Watching the sunrise she sighed and decided it was best she got a few hours of sleep. Turning back, the new morning sunlight caught her glasses in such a way that all the colours were separated and spread onto the wall.

Sybill's breath caught in her throat, if she could only catch it, was her thought, if she could only catch it she'd know everything! Reaching forward, she stepped out of the light and the rainbow vanished. Sybill Trelawney was plunged into the darkness once more.

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By Witblogi

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	29. Peter Pettigrew

**Disclaimer: Characters, settings and everything else you recognize belong to JK Rowling, we just like to play with her ideas.**

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**29. Peter Pettigrew**

There aren't any rainbows anymore.

He doesn't know why he notices this, nor why it affects him the way it does - only, he can hear Remus-Moony-The-Werewolf's voice in the back of his mind -

_My mother always told me that rainbows were gifts from above, little reminders that everything would work out, you know? That, even though it rains, the sun will come out eventually._

But what are they? he'd asked, and Remus just smiled and said something about lights and colors and refraction and he lost interest. The gift-from-above explanation was better, prettier. More hopeful than scientific facts. That was Moony's problem, he always analyzed everything until it lost all of it's mystery and meaning. Peter never liked Remus very much.

There aren't any rainbows anymore, not since the dementors got away from Azkaban and started spreading their misty plague. There's no light left to fracture into them and Remus's old mum was wrong, because the sun isn't coming out again and nothing is going to work out right, because even if they win -

(_he doesn't know who he wants to win_)

- they'll lose, because the Wizarding World will never convert and happily follow them. Even if the Death Eaters triumph, the world as a whole loses and what good is it to be a God of a people who hate you, outcast by most of the world and favored by the tyrant? And if the Death Eaters lose, the rest of the world has still lost because so many people have died just to knock out someone who should have been smothered as an infant and never let into Hogwarts or even out of the womb and if he keeps thinking like this, he'll be killed.

Or tortured, or worse.

He wants to see a rainbow, wants to think about hope, maybe, about good times and Lily's smile (Lily-whom-he-hates because of her heritage and her pretty hair and her sympathy, which was never reserved for him, only it sort of was, sometimes, and he hates her for that too, because he can't hate someone so _good_, and he has to hate her on principle and left-over bitterness that he never quite managed to get rid of). And maybe if he shuts his eyes tight enough, he can hear Sirius-who-went-insane laughing like a bark and James-whom-he-killed snickering over a prank and Remus-left-all-alone berating them like he used to, and -

There aren't any rainbows anymore.

(_he thinks that it all went wrong somewhere down the line_)

Peter-Wormtail-The-Traitor's mother never told him comforting stories about rainbows. She hugged him close and told him how wonderful he was and how magic would come and he would be great someday, and not to worry about his mediocrity. Peter's mother took such good care of him then, but it all backfired because he found out that she was wrong and he would never be great or good or even okay and he hates her for lying to him like that, even if it made him feel great when she said it.

He can feel himself going insane, bit by bit, piece by piece. He can't believe that he's to blame for any of this. He can't believe that he's evil. He's just a kid, just a child, just a scared boy who was lied to and cast aside and tossed away and who never had comfortable stories about hope and never had a pretty girlfriend to love him and hold him and kiss him and they say that Moony is married now and that's not right because who wants to marry a _werewolf_, anyway?

He's going just a little bit crazy with all of this, just a little bit tired of being the trod-on, forgotten, pathetic _Pettigrew_ who betrayed his friends and can't even cast a really good silencing spell and he could be worth so much if he could just gather up the guts to go back. Maybe Moony wouldn't forgive him, and maybe Harry would still hate him, but he has _information_, he has secrets, he can point the Order straight to Death Eater headquarters, tell them exactly how to take over all these people, exactly how to stop them.

His silver hand twitches.

But he could never do that. He doesn't have the spine. James-Prongs-The-Leader would be so disgusted with him.

(_he still cares what they would think, and he hates himself for that, too_)

There aren't any rainbows anymore. It's all dreary and wet and hopeless and foggy and he's tired of seeing rain and he thinks that the first chance he gets, he needs to go off to the Bahamas or Fiji or Tahiti, somewhere warm and tropical, where he can disappear into the crowds and be happy and comfortable and marry a bikini-clad islander who won't ever ask him to do magic tricks or keep her secrets or commit murder. He thinks that he's tired of all of this and tired of the little shreds of regret and memories and tired of the way he's kicked around.

They say that Sirius-Padfoot-The-Murderer hid in the tropics. He could do that too, and Padfoot's dead now, so he won't be able to follow him and attack him and hate him and Peter can't help it but a tiny, itty-bitty little part of him misses Padfoot because Padfoot was so lively and energetic that it was impossible to be morose around him. It's sad that Padfoot's dead.

But he can't bring himself to care all that much because he's so tired of all of this and tired of hating everyone and tired of everyone making him hate them and tired of murder and cruelty and The Dark Lord and he just wants to see Lily smile at him and he thinks that maybe Lily would have been able to forgive him because Lily was so good and empathetic and caring and maybe Lily wouldn't have hated him.

But he'll never know, will he? He killed Lily.

There aren't any rainbows anymore.

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**By cupid-painted-blind**


	30. Cedric Diggory

**Disclaimer: Standard –no money, no profit, you know the drill. It's just for fun.**

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**30. Cedric Diggory**

**A Champion's Gift **

People were beginning to enter the great hall as Dumbledore sat pensively in his chair at the front of the room, and watched them file in slowly. Some of them had to be steadied by a friend because the grief was overwhelming.

He watched as the handful of students from Durmstrang followed Krum in – their natural leader now that the whereabouts of Karkaroff were unknown. Except for Viktor they seemed in shock as much from his disappearance as from the events at the end of the tournament.

Krum himself was ashen, and mechanically seated himself at the end of a row of seats halfway back. The four tri-wizard champions had been becoming fast friends, and he was suffering from the loss, as well as the psychological aftermath of having been ensnared by the Imperius curse.

The headmaster's eyes swept beyond the Durmstrang group, past the huddled gathering of Beauxbatons students whispering together sadly in hushed French, to the door where Harry Potter now walked into the room. His face was pale, making the dark circles under his eyes stand out even more.

He made it to a spot near the front of the room, flanked closely on either side by a grim Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and followed closely by Fred and George. While it was obvious that Hermione had been crying, she, like the rest of Potter's self-appointed honor guard, walked along the aisle staring down the crowd on either side of Harry – almost daring them to say something to him, to _blame him_.

No one did.

Dumbledore gave Harry a small nod of encouragement, which the boy acknowledged with a barely perceptible nod of his own, and then sank blankly into a chair between his friends.

A small sigh escaped from the old wizard as he watched them escort the Diggorys in. They both looked like they had aged twenty years in the past twenty-four hours, and from the expression on Amos's face, ten dementors couldn't have made him feel any worse than he did a the moment. Of course, there would actually be moments of happiness for him again somewhere in his future, but no one could ever convince him of that at the present.

The number of people still pouring through the door was substantial, and it struck Dumbledore at that moment how devoid the Great Hall was of sound, despite the large gathering within the room. Only an occasional sob or sniffle carried across the chamber, rather than the riot of laughter and shouts that normally accompanied mealtimes here.

The hall was lacking not only sound, but color today Dumbledore noted, as he sat and pondered just exactly what he would say. The gray light that filtered in the windows and filled the clouded sky overhead created a washed –out effect, like an old painting that hadn't been cleaned for decades. The color was still there, underneath, but a stain of death lessened it today.

Of course it wouldn't have mattered if the day had been bright, color would have been just as absent in that sea of black. Yes, black was the color of mourning….. and of murder.

The old white-bearded wizard firmed his resolve. He would tell them. They must know. Even if many of them were not ready to believe….they must be told.

They must be told that a boy, still in the lush, verdant spring of his youth, had been cut down carelessly. Cedric had been torn from life and from his friends without thought, and without mercy.

Dumbledore turned slightly in his chair to look at those friends – the large group of tearful Hufflepuffs, clothed in their black Hogwarts robes that were today the color of loss. He noticed that many of them wore yellow flowers pinned on those robes, and reflected on that for a moment. Yellow was their house color, yes. It was the color of friendship and laughter…ah, especially of laughter. It saddened him that Cedric had lost that laughter too.

Youth and laughter; green and yellow – erased.

The hall was nearly full, and Filch would be signaling him from the back when the last of the mourners was seated. Dumbledore's ears caught a heart- wrenching sob, and he turned to where Cho Chang, no longer able to contain her grief, was being comforted by her classmates.

She'd been Cedric's girlfriend since before the Yule Ball, if he had heard correctly.

Dumbledore's heart went out to the young distraught witch, who had had her handsome young beau taken from her in such an awful way. It was young love, torn asunder, and Cedric Diggory would never know its full bloom. Be it the red, passionate love for a woman, or the warm, bright love of a father for his children, Cedric would never experience more of love on this earth.

No love, no passion, no red.

How awful it all was. He must remember to say what a good and loyal friend, what an honorable competitor Cedric had been. Always there for his friends, his family –always a steady arm to lean upon, or a helping hand to be offered. He'd been a true-blue friend.

Cool, calm, steady, azure, unwavering…no longer.

Dumbledore saw Filch nod at him after the doors to the Great Hall had been closed, and he hesitated for a moment longer while he decided on what he would finally say.

Cedric had possessed so many of the qualities that exemplified what was good, and honest and true, and brave…right until the very end.

The headmaster stood slowly, looking out over the faces that watched him with sorrow and expectation. So much had been taken from them with Cedric's death as well.

In his passing he had taken his love, his laughter, his youthful energy, his loyalty, and his bravery away from those he had known. Red, yellow, green, blue and violet –some of the color had indeed drained away from their world with him.

He glanced at Cedric's parents, seated off to one side of the room. Two people had never appeared more joyless, more tired, or more gray. Dumbledore wondered if they ever would see the world as brightly again. He heaved a final sigh and began to speak.

"The end," he said, looking around at them all, "of another year."

Dumbledore went on then to speak of Cedric, of the murder, and of how Harry had fought Voldemort and escaped to bring back Cedric's lifeless body to his parents. As he reminded all those present that they would be welcome at Hogwarts at any time, he let his gaze shift from the Durmstrang students to Harry to make sure he was okay.

The boy still looked shaken, but there was a resolve in those green eyes that told Dumbledore that he'd be all right. He then risked a glance at the Diggorys, hoping that they were holding up as he spoke of the dark and difficult times they were facing.

Mrs. Diggory merely sat weeping silently, staring at her hands folded in her lap as he spoke again of her son, until that is, her husband touched her arm, and gave her a small, tearful smile, and nodded at the window they were sitting next to.

Dumbledore let his gaze sweep the room again as he spoke of the choice between doing what was right and what was easy, and then once more turned where the grieving parents were looking out the window together. He followed their line of sight as he concluded with remarks about what had happened to a wonderful boy just because he had strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort, and there he saw it, off in the distance.

There was a small break in the heavy gray cloud cover, and a bright rainbow shown through, arcing down onto the lake. His eyes met those of Amos Diggory, who had turned back to look at him, and he nodded once with a small smile. It was there for all to see – the gift from Cedric, trying to give back a little color to the world from which it had been stolen.

Dumbledore turned again to the Great Hall, and said once more, "Remember, Cedric Diggory." (1)

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**By Nytd**

**(1) This line comes directly out of **_**Goblet of Fire**_**, ch.37, and in no way does Nytd or the Reviews Lounge claim any credit for it.**

**A/N from Nytd: Thought I'd go out on a limb and write something a little different by doing a character from another's perspective. Cedric was the perfect candidate for this. **

**A note from the RL: Just a reminder that each individual chapter is imagined and written by a different author. Please remember to review!**


	31. Hugo Weasley

**Disclaimer: If you recongise it, we do not own it.**

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**31. Hugo Weasley**

It isn't easy being a Weasley grandkid. Dad always says he had it hard with so many brothers, but it's even worse when you're a grandkid because there are even more kids to live up to.

There's Victoire, stunning, glamorous Victoire with her dazzling  
silver-blonde hair and her eleven O's in her N.E.W.Ts. Everyone's always fawning over her, telling her how beautiful she looks and how perfect she is. As if she needs telling. If she didn't shake her head every time and deny all compliments I'd have to hate her.

And James. Big Quidditch hero James, ever popular among girls who seem very willing to chase and giggle after him. And no one cares that he's such a git sometimes, because he's only taking after his grandfather, and everyone knows how great the first James Potter was. (I'm not being sarcastic here.)

And of course there's my sister. She's Victoire without the Veela genes  
– perfect at every single sodding subject at school, always getting top  
marks, loved by all the teachers but always denying her braininess, always convincing herself that she's going to fail and being surprised when she passes with flying colours.

Of course, every other Weasley grandkid is great at something. There's the brave Albus, and all of Uncle George's kids are really smart and witty, and Lily, the youngest of the grandkids, the sweetest, the most looked after, and Uncle Charlie's macho men are always looked upon as strong, the defenders of the Weasleys.

And there's me. Hugo. The first Weasley Hufflepuff, the one always looked over, nothing special. I'm not the most handsome, I don't always get top marks and I'm definitely not that great at Quidditch. I'm the one who's always being moaned at; the one snickered at in school, never living up to expectations.

I'm just the grey sky against the rainbows.

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**By Heart4Happiness**


	32. Lord Voldemort

**Disclaimer: If you recognize it as something JK Rowling invented, we don't own it.**

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**32. Lord Voldemort **

"I saw a rainbow, once. I saw it a long time ago, before mum went away," Timothy Harris insisted.

"You're lying," Tom said coldly.

Timothy seemed to shrink under his glare, but stupidly opened his mouth for a retort, anyway. I'll … Ow!"

He clapped a dirty hand over his mouth, and then spat blood into it. He made muffled noises through his mouthful of rapidly swelling tongue. Tom knew that he wouldn't speak any more that night.

Tom Marvolo Riddle had always known that he was special. He had always been able to hurt people just by getting angry at them, and he also knew that he as much better than Timothy, no matter how many rainbows the kid had seen.

"Oh Timmy! Don't cry," Julie whispered, wringing her hands and glancing anxiously at the door. Some of the other children said Julie's parents had abandoned her because she was ugly. For all Tom knew, it might have been true.

I'll tell you a story, Timmy. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She put an arm around his shoulders. Julie always told him the same old stories. But it didn't matter. People said Timothy's parents had left him because he was slow. For all Tom knew, it was most probably true.

He always pretended that he wasn't listening. But out of the corner of his eye, he watched a little girl with a dripping nose and tangled hair paint pictures in the darkness with her thin, hoarse voice.

They were pictures of yellow gold and red apples, of orange flowers and green hills, and of the smoky blue and purple of the sky at dusk. Perhaps that was what had prompted him to steal from the other children, he thought as he listened. The colors of the rainbow had always held a kind of magic for him. Perhaps that was why he hoarded the little toys that caught the light so well.

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The summer after his first year, they moved Julie to another room when her cough became more serious. There were no more stories.

But it didn't matter, anyway. He had learned that magic was more sophisticated than colored lights.

He visited her only once, just to remind himself that this silly little girl, with her dull brown hair and ashen skin, was a Muggle. To remind himself that she was weak, just like his mother had been. Even in her fever, she babbled about rainbow hues in a low voice, and finally, he saw her stories for what they were, only stories.

Now he saw the colors for what they really were, as well. Gradually the yellow of sickness replaced the yellow of gold, the jewel-bright crimson of blood replaced the rosy apple, brilliant orange flowers were swallowed by hungry flames, and the blue and purple of bruises blotted out the hues of the sky.

All of these colors were silly, Muggle things that could never hurt him, but brought everyone around him pain and fear. This angered him. Everyone was so busy with their silly Muggle fears that they underestimated a thin, young boy. He could show them real pain and fear. And someday, he would.

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Tom Riddle smiled to himself as he watched the green flash die away, and his own father with it. He glanced at the handsome ring that now sat on his finger, ignoring the thin rays of color appearing in the sky now that the storm had drawn away. He had placed himself above those stupid Muggle worries. He was the Heir of Slytherin. He was Lord Voldemort.

Green was the only color for him.

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**By Mrs James Norrington**


	33. Neville Longbottom

**Disclaimer: We own nothing. It was all invented by JK Rowling, and we just like to play with her ideas.**

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**33. Neville Longbottom**

I was eleven when my mother gave me the first gum wrapper. It was crumpled and dirty and it had a corner missing, but it was the first thing my mother had ever given me, so none of that seemed to matter. I had been telling my parents about getting my Hogwarts letter and how much I was looking forward to school, but when that square of red paper fluttered down from my mother's hand into my lap, I stopped mid-sentence, staring at it.

When my grandmother saw what it was, she sighed. "Good Lord," she muttered. Then she smiled brightly. "Yes, thank you, Alice dear. That was very nice of you." And she rose to help my mother back to her bed, sighing and calling back over her shoulder, "Stick it in the bin, Neville dear. What she was thinking . . ."

But I didn't. I kept it. And the next time we visited, when she dropped another one in my lap, I kept that one, too. And before too long, I had an entire rainbow of gum wrappers from my mother, every color but yellow. My mother didn't like the yellow gum, the nurses told me.

The fact that my gum wrapper rainbow was incomplete shouldn't have bothered me. But it did. As much as I tried to tell myself to stop being so foolish, to push it to the back of my mind, my thoughts kept being drawn back to that missing color, and I found myself, every Christmas and birthday, actually disappointed when my mother handed me a green or blue or red or orange or purple gum wrapper. Not at the gift itself, not at the fact that the only things my mother ever gave me were empty candy wrappings, no. Just at the color of the offering, because that missing color came, unasked, to signify what was missing out of my own life.

Yellow meant happiness. Yellow meant friendship. Yellow meant peace. I had none of those, not really. Those were things I thought I would never know. There was only one aspect of yellow in my life, the worst aspect of the color. Cowardice. Weakness. A lack of bravery. My yellow was what I was most ashamed of having.

I had long known that I was never going to be as brave or as smart or as talented as my parents had been. I had grown up knowing that because I had grown up hearing that. The words may have been spoken with love, but they still dared me to measure up, even as they told me I never could.

And I guess there was some part of me that thought if I could just have the missing color, if I could only complete what was hidden, unfinished, then I could measure up. I could be as great as my parents had been. I could finally make my grandmother proud. All I needed was yellow.

If my life had been a story written down, then my mother would have handed me a yellow gum wrapper when I visited her by myself for the first time just before I left for my seventh year at Hogwarts.

She didn't. On that day, that visit, the wrapper she gave me was orange. My fifth.

I tried not to let my disappointment show. The last thing I wanted to do was leave my mother upset, when I knew it might be the last time I saw her. So I thanked her sincerely, kissed her on the cheek, and helped her back to bed. And I headed off to school, no closer to finding that missing color than I had been before. But something was different this time. I had a new resolve, a new determination. If I couldn't find yellow, I would just have to make some of my own.

And something changed, once I made that decision. All of a sudden, it didn't matter that I wasn't as brave or as smart or as talented as my parents. The fact that I was Neville Longbottom, that awkward Gryffindor who couldn't do anything right, wasn't important anymore. The students at Hogwarts needed help, and so instead of wondering what my grandmother would think, I helped them. There were things that needed to be done, and instead of worrying about if I _could_ and what would happen to me if I did, I just did them, and didn't care about the consequences. I became an entirely new person, and it was exhilarating. I believed in myself so that others would believe in me. For the first time in my life, I took a stand. For the first time in my life, I mattered.

And when I came back from their detentions, exhausted and aching from their torture, I never let it show. Like I had learned from my mother and father long ago, you can color others' emotions with your own. So I would stride, not stumble, from their dungeons, my head held high in defiance. The looks on the faces of my peers was worth every bruise. They were proud. Of _me_. And I was determined to earn their pride.

Because I learned something, and the longer I lived in Hogwarts that year, the more the lesson sunk in. The missing color didn't matter. It no longer represented who I was. I had become the whole rainbow, and they couldn't touch me. They couldn't hurt me, they couldn't keep me from being seen, and they couldn't change the reaction people had when they saw me. I was doing something and I couldn't be stopped.

The visit to my parents just after my seventh year was the first time I had ever gone not out of a sense of duty, but because I had something that I really wanted to tell them. "I know this won't mean anything to either of you," I said, sitting between their beds, "but we won."

There were days I woke up and could still hardly believe it. "It means something now. Everything you fought for, everything that happened . . . it was for this. We won. He's gone. And I just wanted you to know. I wanted to be the one to tell you." My parents looked at me blankly, but because I hadn't expected anything different, I wasn't disappointed.

I smiled. "You know, you taught me something, Mum," I said to her, and she turned her dull eyes to me, head tilted to one side. "Whether you meant to or not. You taught me that there are some things that can't be given. Some things have to come from inside you. I never knew what I was capable of until I had to make my own courage. See, I thought the incomplete rainbow meant I would never have it, when really, it was just that I had to find it for myself."

She continued staring at me as I spoke, rocking back and forth a little. Then she pulled something from a drawer and shuffled over to me, holding out her hand insistently. I held my own beneath hers, palm up to receive whatever it was she was giving me. A gum wrapper fluttered down.

It was blue. I laughed. "Exactly," I said quietly. In a world as unpredictable and turbulent as ours had been recently, it was nice to know that some things didn't change.

That was all many years ago. The time when incredible feats of bravery were necessary to get through each day are long past, and my life is as simple and quiet as teaching at Hogwarts can be.

That was my last visit to my parents, telling them I'd been hired to replace Professor Sprout as the Herbology teacher. I think I was just as excited that day as I'd been when I'd told them that Voldemort had been defeated. By then I was my parents only visitor, as my grandmother had died a few years after the Final Battle, as proud of me as she had ever been of her son.

But that day, in the hospital, I was telling my parents about getting the notification and how excited I was to be going to teach at Hogwarts when my mother shuffled up to me and dropped a gum wrapper in my lap. Red.

I let my previous sentence trail off as I looked down at it, smiling a little, sadly. My mother hadn't stopped giving me gum wrappers in the decade or so since I'd been visiting her alone. And now she stood by my chair, anxiously waiting for me to accept her offering. I did, as always, picking it up and putting it in my pocket. "Thanks, Mum," I whispered, and I led her back to bed.

"It's been a long time since I've needed the rainbow and that one missing color," I told her, still holding her hand. She looked up at me, catching on to my slight sadness. I smiled reassuringly. "You can give me as many gum wrappers as you want," I said with a smile. "I will add them to my collection at home. I'm only saying that I don't need you to finish the rainbow for me anymore. But I do wish that there was a way to finish it for you. I wish you could find your yellow."

For in the time since my last year at Hogwarts, I had grown to realize that, although it really didn't need to signify anything, that incomplete rainbow had become a better analogy for my parents' lives than my own. They needed happiness, friendship, and peace far more than I did, now. Their lives were the incomplete ones, the ones missing that vital, vibrant something. And I knew that it didn't matter how dutiful or loving a son I was, I couldn't give it to them. I would never be able to. Just like my mother was never be able to give me yellow because she didn't have any yellow wrappers to give. She simply didn't have them.

Maybe, somewhere, somehow, my mother knew that something was missing. Maybe, locked away inside her, hidden from thought and memory for so many years, was the little piece of Alice Longbottom who knew who her son was, had always known. I imagine, if that was true, that she found her inability to give her son yellow as frustrating as I once had.

I say this because my mother died a few nights ago. Part of me mourns because my mother is gone, because that part of her that may or may not have existed is now truly lost to me. But part of me knows, also, that the woman who sat in the bed in St. Mungo's wasn't my mother and hadn't been for a long time. And all of me knows that she's better off wherever she is now, that the part of her that was Alice Longbottom, my mother, is free again.

When I got to the ward, to do the things that had to be done, the first thing I saw was my father, sitting in his bed, looking bewildered and lost. Every so often, he would glance to where my mother's bed had once been and stare at the now-vacant space.

"How is he?" I asked the nurse. She looked at him sadly.

"He only knows something's missing, poor dear." Yes, and that is a theme that has run rampant through all the lives of this family. Something's missing.

The nurse then told me that my mother had been inconsolable the last few days of her life. I was told that she was constantly agitated, constantly unsettled and upset, looking always toward the door of the ward, as if waiting for someone to walk through it. "She had something she wanted to give you," the nurse told me, and then she spoke of a battered envelope that my mother had refused to let out of her sight. She had clutched it to her person or set it on the seat of the chair I always occupied on my visits, and nothing any of the nurses said could convince her to give it up.

"I haven't opened it," she said as she handed me a dirty, much abused parchment envelope. "Didn't seem right to. But it was very important to your mother that you get this, dear. Maybe you'll know why."

It took me a very long time to open that envelope. I sat in my office, staring at it for hours that night, wondering what on earth had been so important to my mother. It was likely nothing, I tried to tell myself. Just a delusional woman's fancy and nothing more.

Finally, in one fluid motion, telling myself to expect nothing, I upended the envelope over my desk and stared down at what fell out of it, in wonder. Slowly, so slowly, a smile spread across my face, even as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I wondered for the first time if maybe, just maybe, there hadn't been some part of my mother in the vacant woman I had always known all along. For sitting on my desktop were five gum wrappers. One red, one orange, one green, one blue, one purple, all identical to the countless others I had gotten since the age of eleven but for one thing. They were, every one, colored over with yellow ink.

My mother had finished her rainbow after all.

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**By Realmer06**


	34. Leanne

**Disclaimer: We own nothing HP affiliated. **

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**34. Leanne**

_Dear Katie,_

Quickly, she dashes off the postcard. She describes her holiday in Austria, asks about Katie's holiday in France, passes on messages from her parents, shares a few jokes. There is no room to be eloquent on a postcard, and that suits her just fine. She's never been good at letter-writing; she's always preferred to stick to the standard _weather is good, wish you were here_ type of postcard.

Except at the moment it is pouring with rain, and she certainly doesn't wish Katie was here.

_She's your best friend!_ protests part of her, but the rest of her knows that that is the problem.

Katie was her best friend, and they shared everything. They had no secrets from each other, so they knew everything about each other. And yet she had failed to notice when Katie was under the Imperius curse. She had merely dismissed it as Katie "acting oddly".

What sort of a best friend did that?

Sighing, she signs her name at the bottom of the postcard: _Leanne._

Leanne. Lion woman. That was half the problem.

A lion woman would have thick, wavy blonde hair and hazel eyes, just like she did. Her mother was fond of saying how much the name suited her.

But it didn't. A lion woman would be brave, fierce, bold, passionate and loyal. She would be a fighter, standing up for what she believed. She would be a devoted friend to her friends and a ferocious enemy to her enemies. In short, she would be a true Gryffindor.

And Leanne isn't. She was not a good enough friend to notice when Katie was being controlled. She was not brave enough to try and help Katie when she touched the necklace. She was not passionate enough to try and find the people who had given Katie the necklace. She is not a lion woman.

If she wasn't Muggle-born, it would make no difference. Witches and wizards don't care about first names and their meanings. But Leanne had spent her primary school years hearing her mother tell friends proudly about her name and how it suited her, and receiving little gifts that said "**Leanne:** Lion woman. The female version of Leander, the Greek hero."

She can't help it. She is Leanne, the lion woman, red and gold. Except she isn't, and she can never be it. Only something deep down inside her tells her that she could be, that she _is_, but she knows that it is nonsense.

She turns the postcard over. It shows a view of the Austrian Alps at sunset. The sky is pink, the clouds tinted yellow. The snow on the mountaintops looks like fire in the light.

Red and gold, just like everything else.

She looks out of the window at the same view of the Austrian Alps. That was why she chose this card, because it was almost the view from the window of the chalet. At the moment the view is exactly the same as the postcard, except for one thing.

Instead of the beautiful red and gold sunset, a rainbow arches over the mountains. It is red and gold, but also every other colour as well.

She has to be red and gold, but not because of her name. She has to be red and gold because without it, she will never be complete. She has to be red and gold, and with it she has to be every other colour as well.

She is not just Leanne Hollis, she is Leanne Iris Hollis. It doesn't matter that her first name means _Lion woman_. It doesn't matter that she cannot live up to it.

She can live up to her middle name instead.

And her middle name means _Rainbow_.

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**By Caitlin Kendricks**


	35. Fred Weasley

**Disclaimer: We own nothing. It was all invented by JK Rowling, and we just like to play with her ideas.**

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**35. Fred Weasley**

**Storms and Rainbows**

Fred had never seen the attraction of rainbows. He supposed they were pretty enough, but they didn't _do_ anything. He liked storms better. Thunder and lightning and lashing rain – with a howling gale thrown in if you were really lucky – satisfied his liking for action, for movement, for noise. He knew that George disagreed with him. George was frightened of storms (although no one except Fred knew that) and he liked rainbows, almost to the point of an obsession with them. Fred laughed at him about it; said rainbows were too pretty-pretty, too sissy, too girly. Mind you, he practically flattened Charlie when he agreed with him. Fred was allowed to say things like that to George; no one else was, not even their other brothers.

That was it, you see. There was the two of them - _the twins, the Weasley twins, Fred-and-George, Gred-and-Forge, "which one are you, again?" _ - and there were the others. The others were okay. Well, mostly okay. Bill was cool, but too big-brother-bossy on occasion. Charlie was fun, and the one who looked most like him and George, but even he had his "I'm your older brother, do it my way" moments. Percy was so different from the rest of them that he and George seriously wondered if he really was one of their family, or whether Mum has somehow picked up the wrong baby by mistake. And a lot of the time, Percy was just a git. Ron was "Ickle Ronniekins", nothing more than their pesky little brother, good for teasing and as the butt of many a joke. And Ginny was – Ginny was their baby sister, and he and George would do practically anything to make sure she was safe and happy, short of letting on to her or to anyone else that that was how they felt about her.

But they were "the others". Okay, they were _Weasleys-our-family-I'll-stick-up-for-you-against-all-comers_, but they weren't part of the alliance that was _Fred-and-George_. Always Fred-and-George, never the other way round. That annoyed Fred a lot more than it did George. He knew that everyone saw him as the louder, brasher, crueller, more extrovert of the two of them (not that anyone in their wildest dreams could ever describe George as an introvert). Fred was louder. George was slightly less likely to play a joke that might hurt someone. Fred was readier to hit out in anger without even thinking about it, whereas George's anger was slower-burning but fiercer and longer-lasting once kindled. Fred was supposedly the ringleader, the one in front, the one who had the ideas. That was crap, of course. George had at least as many good ideas as he had, and he was more inclined to stick at the ones that didn't work first time, and _make_ them work. If it had been left to him alone, Fred knew, half the products they sold in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes would never have made it to the shelves.

There were other differences between them of course. Some their family and close friends knew about. Others were known only to the twins themselves. Things like George not liking thunder. The fact that Fred hated being alone in the dark ( he said he hated it, rather than he was frightened of it because then he felt slightly less bad about it). The fact that Fred worried more about himself, while George worried more about other people (Fred wasn't particularly proud of that one, but he couldn't deny it was true.)

Ultimately he and George were a team, and the differences between them – whether other people could spot them or not – only made them stronger. But Fred had a suspicion – one that he had shared with no one at all, not even George – that if for some reason (Godric forbid) one of them ever had to get by without his twin, that George would make a much better shot at it than he would. Because the thing that frightened Fred most of all, but which somehow never seemed to worry George, was the thought of being separated from his twin. Not _"oh dammit, I left my bag in the common room, meet you in Transfiguration" _ separated; not _one-in-detention-and-the-other-not_ separated (not that _that_ happened very often), but really separated for hours, or days, or weeks – or forever.

It started when they were five, and George had Dragon Pox badly enough that he had to be admitted to St. Mungo's. Fred screamed for most of the first night alone in their room. On the second night, their father (their mother was staying at the hospital with George) moved Charlie into George's bed so Fred would not be on his own. That was okay until morning came, and Fred, waking up and seeing someone who was not George in George's bed, leapt on Charlie, biting and kicking and hitting him. After that, Arthur moved Fred onto a camp bed in his own room, which worked better, although Fred still woke crying for his twin several times during the night. When George came home, Fred literally didn't let him out of his sight for a fortnight.

When the twins were eleven, their Hogwarts letters came. They were excited of course. They had wanted to go to Hogwarts ever since Bill started, when they were only four. But in the middle of the night two weeks before term began, an awful thought occurred to Fred. He sat bolt upright, and aimed a pillow at his sleeping twin, needing reassurance _now _that what he dreaded wouldn't happen.

"Wassamarra?" mumbled George, glaring at Fred, and throwing the pillow back into his brother's face with surprising accuracy for someone who had just been rudely awakened from a perfectly good dream.

"George, what if …?" Fred's idea had scared him so much he was practically in tears, and George scrambled out of his own bed to join Fred in his.

"What?" he demanded, his expression changing from one of irritation to one of concern. "Whassup?"

"What if the Sorting Hat puts us in different Houses at Hogwarts?" whispered Fred

As far as George was concerned, the question was so ridiculous he nearly laughed. "Don't be an idiot," he said, hugging his twin. "We'll be in Gryffindor. Weasleys are always in Gryffindor. Bill said so."

Fred shook his head. "Bill doesn't _know_ that," he insisted. "Brothers aren't always in the same House. Just because everyone so far has been in Gryffindor doesn't mean we will be."

And nothing George could say persuaded Fred that his fears were unfounded. The idea that he might be separated from George at school haunted him over the next two weeks.

The very last day of the holidays was a stormy one. Despite George's misgivings, Fred and George took their brooms and flew out over the hills behind The Burrow. (Actually, that wasn't strictly accurate. The brooms they took were Bill's and Charlie's, which were better than theirs. But since Bill had left for his first job in Egypt a week earlier, and Charlie had gone to Diagon Alley with his latest girlfriend, the twins figured they were fairly safe from their older brothers' wrath.) They flew through the rain, dodging and chasing each other, Fred laughing at the thunder and lightning, and George pretending to, until they were both exhausted and soaked to the skin. They landed and collapsed on their backs, looking up at the sky as the rain eased off, and the thunder and lightning ceased (to Fred's disappointment and George's quiet relief).

Fred rolled over on his stomach and looked at his twin, a frown on his face.

"What?" demanded George, raising his eyebrows.

"What if we _are_ separated tomorrow Georgie?"

"Are you really still worrying about that?" asked George. "We won't be. There's no way. Even if we didn't end up in Gryffindor – which we will – we'd be together somewhere else. The Hat wouldn't separate us, really it wouldn't."

"But …" began Fred, but George interrupted him.

"But what? We'll be together Fred, really we will. I wish you'd stop worrying about it."

Fred groaned. "I can't help it. I don't think I could stand it if they split us up. And they _might_. We _are _different, even if some people don't think we are. The Hat'll see that. Charlie says it can read your mind. It'll see all the stupid things I'm scared of and put me in Hufflepuff, and you'll go into Gryffindor without me." He was crying now, and hid his face in his arms so George couldn't see.

George knew anyway. "Don't be a git, Fred. You're miles braver than me about loads of things. Look, if it'll make you feel better, I'll promise you something."

"Wha'? You can't do anything about what the Hat decides, can you?"

"No. But I can do something about what I do about it," George replied, somewhat incoherently.

"What are you talking about?" asked Fred, wiping his sleeve across his eyes, and regarding his twin with a puzzled expression.

"I promise," said George, "that wherever the Hat puts you, I'll come and join you, whatever it says about me. I promise, Freddie."

"How d'you know I'll be first?" demanded Fred, wanting to believe George, but looking for a loophole in his logic.

"Because it's alphabetical, you idiot. F came before G last time I looked."

"You'll really do that?" Fred asked. "Even if it puts me in Slytherin?"

George grinned. "It'd better not. But if it does, I'll join you there. I might never talk to you again, mind. But I'll join you. I won't leave you on your own."

"Promise, Georgie?"

"Yeah, promise, Freddie."

The rain had stopped completely now, and a beautiful rainbow arched above the two boys.

"See?" said George. "Dad said Muggles have some weird idea about a rainbow being a sign of a promise. So I can't back out now. Happy?"

Fred smiled properly for the first time in a fortnight, and hugged his twin.

"Yeah. Happy. Thanks George. What would I do without you?"

He didn't have to find out, of course. The Sorting Hat took less than five seconds to place him in Gryffindor, and only took a little longer with George because it was musing: "Haven't I just done you? Oh no, I see the differences now; but still – Gryffindor!"

So the twins were together in Gryffindor, as everyone except Fred had always expected, and were together throughout their Hogwarts careers – from establishing themselves as Troublemakers-in-Chief early in their first year (to Percy's disgust and Charlie's secret amusement) right through to their spectacular exit in their seventh, flying together into a sunset that rivalled one of George's rainbows for the range and brightness of its colours. And together they began their biggest adventure, Weasleys Wizard Wheezes – much more of an adventure than a business venture – which looked like being a spectacular success.

Then, just over a year after their grand exit from Hogwarts, all Fred's old fears came back to haunt him, and the separation he had always secretly dreaded nearly took place. Both he and George drank the Polyjuice Potion to turn them into Harry, making a joke of it, as they did about everything, pretending to be each other, knowing it might be dangerous, but neither of them really believing anything would happen to them.

As Lupin and Arthur's brooms diverged, Fred, clinging round his father's waist on the back of their broom, saw George hit by the Sectumsempra curse, saw the blood, saw the way George slumped forward against Lupin, who was fighting to keep his broom steady, to keep George on it, and to get away from the Death Eaters on their tail. Fred was screaming at his father to stop and to turn back, but Arthur ignored him, grimly determined to do the job they had been given to do, not to compromise the effort to get Harry to safety whatever the cost. It was a different story once they got back to The Burrow an eternity or two later, their father nearly flattening Kingsley Shacklebolt who tried to establish his identity beyond doubt before letting him and Fred into the house to George.

Fred had never been as frightened in his life as he was on entering the familiar living room of The Burrow, and seeing George lying so still on the settee, covered in blood, and with a gaping hole in the side of his head where his left ear should have been. Even when George roused, his statement about feeling saintlike confused Fred utterly – as it would never have done on a normal occasion, however lame the joke – and scared him nearly as much as George's previous stillness had done. Once he understood, Fred continued the joke of course. He was Fred Weasley, everyone expected him to make a joke of things: he couldn't do anything else.

But the thought that he had nearly lost George, and his utter terror when he had seen him hit by the curse haunted Fred both day and night. After a fortnight when he scarcely let his twin out of his sight, at the point at which George was getting heartily sick both of that and of Fred's nightmares waking him every night, George spotted a beautiful rainbow arching high over Diagon Alley. It was nearly closing time and the shop was empty of customers. Verity had already gone home. George slapped the _"Closed" _sign on the door, and dragged his protesting twin outside.

"See the rainbow, Freddie?" George hadn't called him that for years – or not when he was being serious, as he clearly was now. What was going on?

"Yeah. So?"

"D'you remember what I told you about a rainbow meaning a promise? When you thought we'd end up in different Houses at school?"

"Yeah …" Fred said slowly, still not understanding what the hell his twin was talking about.

"I promised I'd never leave you on your own then, and I meant it. As far as I'm concerned, nothing's changed since…"

Suddenly George's meaning dawned on Fred, and his eyes widened.

"Promise, Georgie?"

"Yeah, promise, Freddie."

The twins hugged each other. Both of them slept easily in their beds after that.

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

There was a storm during the evening on the day of Fred's funeral. George sat curled in an armchair hating the storm, trying not to flinch at each crash of thunder, and hating even more that the one person who understood just how bad storms made him feel wasn't there any more to hold his hand (metaphorically at least) even as he laughed at him about his fears.

But then Charlie was leaving the settee where he had been sitting with Bill and Fleur, and perching on the arm of George's chair.

"It's only a storm, Georgie. Only a stupid storm." And George hid his tears in Charlie's old sweater, felling Charlie's strong arms around him, and knowing that, even with Fred gone, he still had his family, and would never be completely on his own.

The thunder and lightning stopped, but Charlie continued to hold his little brother. Fleur walked over to the window. "Look, zere is un arc de ciel – que est-ce que c'est en Anglais?"

Bill joined her at the window and put his arm around her shoulders. "A rainbow," he told her. "A beautiful one."

George looked up at that, and freed himself from Charlie's arms. Going outside into the yard, he looked up at the most spectacular rainbow that he had ever seen.

"You're not on your own Georgie, you never will be." He heard Fred's voice as clearly as if he were standing next to him.

"Promise, Freddie?"

"Yeah, promise, Georgie."

And despite everything, George smiled. Rainbows meant even more to him after that.

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**By Bad Mum**


	36. Mr Ollivander

**Disclaimer: We own nothing you recognise**

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**36. Mr Ollivander**

The shower of sparks that occurs when a wand meets its rightful owner is celebratory. Every wandmaker knows this. But I wonder how many wandmakers have noticed that each shower of sparks is a different color of the rainbow.

I've had several young witches and wizards come into my shop to get their first wands, and I've watch many showers of sparks. No two showers have ever been the same, just as no two wands are the same, and just as no witch or wizard is the same.

I remember the day Harry Potter came into my shop. The sparks that had flown from his wand were red. Now, I've see many showers of red sparks but the sparks from young Mr. Potter's wand were the most golden red I have ever seen. Neville Longbottom's wand had produced red sparks as well, but they had been so yellowish that I had first thought the sixteen-year-old had produced actual _fire_ instead of sparks. Nymphadora Tonks, hers had been red too, but so light and so vibrant that I had, at first glance, thought the sparks were pink.

I became interested in the sparks very early on as a wandmaker. I wanted to know why no two showers of sparks were the same (my own shower of sparks had been cerulean). What was it about the wand that determined the color of the sparks?

I threw myself into research. I was never good at keeping things organized, so instead of writing it down I memorized the length, wood, core, quality of motion, and spark color of every wand I sold. I tried to find some correlation between the first four characteristics of a wand and the fifth. When I thought I had finally figured out the equation, I would set to work on making a wand to produce a certain color of sparks.

One such wand (chestnut, nine and a quarter inches, brittle, dragon heart string) I had thought would celebrate its union with its owner in a shower of violet. But alas, the shower had been yellow--a greenish yellow at that.

With each failure I encountered, I would rework the formula. I was sure that a wand of hawthorn, ten inches long, reasonably springy, and with a unicorn tail hair core would celebrate in orange. But the celebration had been in green--a dark, silvery green.

And then Luna Lovegood entered my store. Now, her wand did something very funny. It produced sparks of bright, sunny yellow and pure indigo. Not yellow sparks with indigo mixed in or vise versa, but a shower of half yellow, half indigo sparks--two completely separate colors!

I was dumbfounded. Until the union of Miss Lovegood and her wand, every wand I had ever sold had only set off celebratory sparks in one solitary color, never two colors at once. The shower from Miss Lovegood's wand set my research off in a new direction. If one wand could set off a shower of two separate colors, could three colors be produced in another wand? Four colors? Five? Could one wand produce a rainbow of separate colors?

I believed it could, and I set out to make that wand. But no matter how hard I tried, no matter how I altered the formula, I could not replicate what Miss Lovegood's wand had done. Every wand I sold afterwards only produced one color. What was it about the wand of that young witch that had caused its unique celebratory shower?

The more time that passed, the closer I thought I was getting to the answer. But my research was put on hold when I was captured by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. This was both a blessing and a curse, for although I enjoyed no part of my stay in the care of You-Know-Who and his minions, I was joined during the last few months of captivity by none other than that young witch whose wand had sparked such fervent curiosity in my mind.

I got to know Miss Lovegood rather well. I found her to be insightful and wise beyond her years. She also had a very creative way of looking at things. And it was while I was thinking of how grateful I was to have her during such miserable times that I realized I had made one very crucial error in my research. The colors that had shot from Miss Lovegood's wand had not been representative of her wand's characteristics but of her own. Yellow: creative, expressive, and happy. Indigo: insightful, wise, and calming. The colors had nothing to do with her wand and everything to do with the young witch herself.

I had been trying to make the rainbow, and I realized then in that depressive pit that the rainbow can not be made. The rainbow can only be found. And I knew that I would never find it.

I had searched this long only to hit a dead end. Even a person so eccentric as Luna Lovegood only embodied two of the rainbow's colors. How was I ever going to find someone who embodied all of them? Who was to say that such a person had ever or would ever exist? I knew it was impossible, and I gave up all hope of ever finding the rainbow.

Decades have passed since then. I am getting on in years now and nearing my time, and I think of how strange it is that it was only a day go when septuplets (yes, septuplets!) entered my store and I had seven little heads bobbing with excitement in front of the counter.

The mother and father (while seeming slightly out of the breath) explained to me that they had wanted to bring them all in separately but that the dear things had insisted on being together. I assured them that it wasn't a problem. I failed to realize how seven eleven year olds, all siblings and all feeding off of each other's energy and all eager to get their hands on what all eleven year olds want most when they gear up to go to Hogwarts, could be such a handful.

They refused to go one at a time and insisted that they had to try out wands together. At my age, I couldn't keep up with their grasping, excited hands. They started pulling wands off the shelves of their own accord, and I must admit that I did not try very hard to stop them.

"Give me that one!"

"I want to see that one!"

"Let me try yours!"

"Trade you!"

"Didn't I have this one already?"

I sat down in one of the chairs reserved for waiting parties and participated in the siblings' wand choosing only by flicking my own wand when something was in danger of falling or breaking, which was often. The parents apologized to me once again, and I was saying that it really wasn't a problem when something quite miraculous happened.

The seven siblings all raised their wands, and when they brought their arms down seven showers of different colored sparks shot from the wand tips: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.

I couldn't move. I sat stock still in the chair while a chorus of joyous yells erupted from the seven children. The mother dug in her purse for some coins, but I told her quite sincerely that she didn't have to pay.

I hadn't found the rainbow after all; the rainbow had found me.

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**HeidiBug731**


	37. Helena Ravenclaw

**Disclaimer: We own nothing you recognise**

**37. Helena Ravenclaw**

**A/N: Italics are her memories. Other parts are her thoughts. Enjoy:**

The Rainbow. It fascinates me. I know that it is just something which is formed by water and sunlight. It is shameful if I do not know that, being daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw, the greatest and cleverest witch of all times. And so, I know of it. And yet, it fascinates me. How can just sunlight and water create something so glorious, so beautiful and so mystifying? The colurs, their blend, their shape...exhilarating. I have always believed that everybody's life is a rainbow. And mine was so too.

However unbelievable it sounds -- yes, the life of The Grey Lady was a rainbow too.

Once upon a time.

…

_She laughed. He was so wonderful. She knew she loved him; but she hadn't told him yet, of course. She would tell him, soon. And then, she saw a rainbow. It was a good omen. She loved the rainbow. It fascinated her. Her life was a rainbow too. And she loved her life. She loved the green of the grass, the blue of the sky, the reds and oranges of the glowing, setting sun... and most of all, the pleasant yellow of his laugh, his warmth. Oh, how she loved that. Yes, she definitely loved her life. She laughed again._

…

_She ran. She knew the act was shameful - disgusting even. And she knew that he would never love her. Yet, she ran. She had the Diadem at last. She would outshine her mother- the cleverest witch of all. But she wouldn't be called that anymore. Helena Ravenclaw would be the cleverest, greatest witch of all times. She smiled through her tears. All was not lost still, though almost all was. _

…

_And then, he came. The Baron. Her life, however, was still a rainbow. But now, the colours changed. The blues were her mood. The green was her consuming envy. The oranges and yellows were the colours of the flames of her anger, her jealousy. Before she knew it, the red was blood. And she was dead. _

…

The times have changed. The story of my life is still known to only two people - Tom Marvolo Riddle and Harry Potter. One is dead, and the other does not probably remember me. And so, my secret is safe. I see the children laugh, cry, be angry. Their lives are rainbows, like everybody's. Except for me - the Grey Lady. The title is almost too perfect for me. I can now do nothing, be nothing. My life now (or should I say 'after-life') is just an even shade of grey. Suffocating grey. How I wish...

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**By koolgirl1993**


	38. Ted Tonks

**Disclaimer: We own nothing you recognise**

**38. Ted Tonks**

_**You with the sad eyes**_

_**Don't be discouraged**_

_**Oh I realize**_

_**It's hard to take courage**_

_**In a world full of people**_

_**You can lose sight of it all**_

_**And the darkness, inside you**_

_**Can make you feel so small**_

"Oi, Black!" Ted's voice hung in the frosty air as he jogged after Andromeda. She granted him a half-glance and inaudible grunt as he fell into step with his ex-girlfriend.

An improvement.

They walked alongside each other, neither quite knowing their destination, their feet leaving twin trails in the flawless white of the snow, sparkling up in the rapidly departing sunlight.

As they walked in silence, Andromeda's eyes stayed determinedly pointed away, while Ted studied her freely. Her face, always beautiful, was held in the disapproving sneer he was most accustomed to. Her dark hair whipped around her face as their feet tread, creating fleeting shapes as the strands danced through the air. Her cheeks and ears were tinged pink from the stinging cold and her lips were slightly chapped from her habit of licking them.

In the forbidding quiet, broken only by the _crunch crunch _of their feet, his eyes were drawn to hers and what he saw caused his stomach to turn. There was that same empty look, helpless guilt in those sparkling brown-almost-black eyes.

It almost seemed as if it would always be there, that look of abandonment haunting her features. The look that must've crossed her face when her mother told her to not let the door hit her on the way out.

And even a month after the she'd been served a Howler for breakfast, she was still withdrawn, shut down from the rest of the students, from him.

Of course it was his fault…being the bad news she'd had to break to the family.

_Dating a mudblood, _he thought icily, _the worst offense. _

He'd seen her mother once before, after disregarding Andy's many objections. By normal standards, he was walking out of earshot but he still managed to hear her disdainful drawl concerning the amount of filth they were allowing into the school these days.

There was no doubt that Andromeda was now considered lower than the false floor of their Gringott's vault, in her mother's merciless eyes. There was also no doubt, though Dromeda hadn't said a word to him since her trip home, that Druella had told her just that.

At first, people had tried to comfort her, recounting their fights with parents or their wishes that they could stand up for themselves.

They all learned quickly not to try to console Andromeda Black.

Almost all of them.

"Can I ask you something?" Ted asked, after several minutes of silent debate and more _crunch crunching_.

She didn't do him the courtesy of a blink.

"Why haven't you been yourself lately?"

She snorted at the question, possibly eligible for the understatement of the year. He knew she would nominate him, if given the chance.

"Well, I mean-I know why you haven't been yourself…I guess I'm trying to ask why you're still acting like a child."

She whipped her head around in the famous Black temper, the air around her head crackling in an electrically charged halo.

"I am not acting like a child," she snarled harshly, emotion sparking behind her eyes and chasing away a bit of the coolness.

"No, you are acting just like a Black," he spat angrily.

"Maybe I am a true Black," she countered in the same clipped tones her mother exercised, "A bitchy, prejudiced, mudblood-hating Black."

She hadn't used that term since her first night at Hogwarts.

As the thought registered through his head, she glared at him cruelly.

"I certainly feel like it at the moment."

**But I see your true colors**

**Shining through**

**I see your true colors**

**And that's why I love you**

**So don't be afraid to let them show**

**Your true colors**

**True colors are beautiful, like a rainbow**

"Bull shit," he challenged, "I know you much too well to believe that."

"You don't know me at all," she claimed dangerously, storming off in a hurried _crunch crunch crunch _across the blank canvas of ground.

He caught up with her easily as she slowed to a frustrated slipslide across an icy patch of gravel.

Ted watched her struggle for a moment, both of them knowing fully he might have helped. If his ego wasn't in the way.

"I've been thinking about it," he stated, "and Black doesn't really suit you."

"Clever Tonks," she hissed, accidently-on-purpose whacking him with a stray flail of her right arm while attempting to remain on her feet.

She paid the price for her physical retaliation when her balance gave and she fell with a large thump.

He couldn't have suppressed his laughter if he had even wanted to.

Halfway back up, she let out a frustrated cry at his mockery, inadvertently landing herself back on her ice-cold bum.

His eyes widened in alarm as she glared up at him, possibly with the intent to kill. He threw his hands up in attempt to assert his innocence, but was not spared a kick that found him on the cracked surface of the mirror-like patch of black ice.

_**Show me a smile then,**_

_**Don't be unhappy, can't remember**_

_**When I last saw you laughing**_

_**If this world makes you crazy**_

_**And you've taken all you can bear**_

_**You call me up**_

_**Because you know I'll be there**_

The two of them sat staring at each other for a moment, one with apprehension and the other with appraisal. Finally a small giggle found its way through Andromeda's barriers.

To Ted, it created the curious sight that was something like a rainbow of every color, one that exploded with every breath expelled in laughter.

That might have just been hypothermia setting in, though.

He really should've worn a heavier cloak.

"There we go," he coaxed with a relieved chuckle, easily matched by another, more enthusiastic outburst of glee, hidden sloppily by a quick hand and guiltily-raised eyebrows.

"Oh no," he warned, "I heard that, no denying it now!"

She lowered her piano-player's fingers and laughed freely, throwing her head back in pure hysteria as her body shook.

Suddenly the cold, apathetic woman who had been posing as Andromeda Black for the last four weeks melted away with her glorious laughter that eventually settled into tamed chokes of mirth to allow her customary reply.

"Don't get too cocky Tonks or I may have to take you down a few notches," she threatened.

"I'd like to see you try," he challenged as he rose back to his feet, offering her his hand as he did so.

They stood for a moment before the oak doors creaked open, throwing the almost black night into relief as the sliver of yellow light spread across the upturned snow.

"Curfew," a fellow prefect sang.

Their eyes flew to the door where the fifth year's shadow still blocked the light.

"D'you mind?" Ted asked impatiently.

The boy turned on his heel angrily, but still leaving the door cracked.

"Look-" he turned around with a tired sigh.

But Andromeda was standing much closer than he remembered, her puffs of breath washing over his face (or really his neck, since he was considerably taller).

"Thank you," she whispered, "very much."

He shrugged in welcome.

"And to answer your question," she said hesitantly, "I haven't been myself lately because nobody made me want to be. I felt pressured to be a Black, and as you say, it doesn't suit me."

He nodded.

"You ever feel the need to be a Black again," he warned with authority, earning another peal of laughter "I'm always happy to knock you on your ass and make you laugh if you like."

"Good night Tonks," she said in warm tones before _crunch crunching_ up the castle steps, "and I'll meet you at breakfast tomorrow."

And with a haphazard grin he watched her leave, a rainbow of fireworks still dominating his vision.

_**And I'll see your true colors**_

_**Shining through**_

_**I see your true colors**_

_**And that's why I love you**_

_**So don't be afraid to let them show**_

_**Your true colors**_

_**True colors are beautiful,**_

_**Like a rainbow**_

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**By Padfootatheart**


	39. Grawp

**Disclaimer: We own nothing you recognise**

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**39. Grawp**

**Grawp's Thoughts, concerning rainbows ...**

Gwarp like Hagger.

Hagger friend.

Hagger brother.

Gwarp like Brother. Brother good….. but Hagger tiny.

Not so matter, Hagger good.

Hagger like me.

Hagger…..

Hagger teach me.

Teach me lots…… Teach me Colours.

Me like colours. Me saw lots of colour yestr… yeters…..yes-ter-daze……

Where? Hagger take Gwarp for bath (Gwarp hake baths. HAKE! HAKE! HAKE!)

The waber is coldddddddddddddd, but squicky likes. Squiky is….sqa…sqoo….sq-id! SQ-ID!

Squiky spray water. He spray lots……….. in air……….. then Gwarp sees lots of light!

Hagger says the different lights iz different colours. Gave names…..

Grrrrrrr…. grewn, reid, booooo, piank, pirpull oarne……. and ello! Haggers sayz it a Rainbow!

Hagger gone back now, to hut. (Gwarp not allowed near hut. Last time Gwarp broke Hagger's door)

Me sit and tink. Tink of colour. Colours are priiity!

Colours are pretty but have funny names…. Gwarp has idea! Gwarp give nu names!

Grewn……is fuzzy stuff on my cave wall. Is leafvs in trees……. Is Forest! Grewn is now FOREST

Reid…… Reid is Aroogog, is other spiders with reid eyes, tiny tiny reid eyes.

Blurgh, Gwarp hate tiny tinny eyes. Reid is ARAGOG

Booooo……….. is….urrrrrrr. Booooo is Luwa! Her tie is booooo and muddy,

and her eyes are booooo too! Booooo is LUWA

Piank! Piank is ezce! Piank is Hagger and his funny umberdiddly that shoots sparks! Piank is HAGGER!

Pirpull. Gwarp knows what Pirpull is. Pirpull is Alby, haggers friend. Alby like pirpull.

Alby gave Gwarp pirpull tent to hide from noisey storms. Pirpull is ALBY.

Oarne, is something……. Is boy! Is Wron! Is Wron with hair, bright oarne! Like fire.

But hair not hurt like fire……. Oarne is WRON.

Ello is ……..is Hermy! Is Hermy cause her eyes have tiny tiny bit of ello in them.

Shine… shine like stars! Ello is HERMY.

Gwarp happy.

Hagger teach well.

When Hagger ask next what colours are the Rainbow, Gwarp will tell.

Gwarp say……….

Rainbow is Reid and Ello and Piank and Grewn, Pirpull and Oarne and Booooo.

Rainbow is Aragog and Hermy and Hagger and Forest, Alby and Wron and Luwa.

Rainbow is Hogwarts.

Rainbow is Friendz.

Rainbow is Home.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxX**

**English Translation**

_Gwarp likes Hagrid._

_Hagrid is my friend._

_Hagrid is also my brother._

_I like my Brother. My brother is good, but he's really tiny._

_But that doesn't matter, Hagrid is good._

_Hagrid is a lot like me._

_Hagrid ….._

_Hagrid teaches me._

_He teaches me lots of different things…… He teaches me colours._

_I like colours. I saw lots of colours yesterday._

_Where? Well, when Hagrid took me for my bath (I hate taking baths. HATE! HATE! HATE!)_

_The water in the lake is so cold! but Squicky seems to like it. Squiky is the squid in the lake._

_You see, Squiky is always spraying water. He sprays lots of water, everywhere._

_Yesterday he sprayed lots of water in the air, and that's when I saw it! Beam of light!_

_Hagrid says that the different lights in the beam are different colours. He told me all their names._

_Green, red, blue, pink, purple, orange, and yellow! My brother says that it is called a rainbow._

_For now, Hagrid has gone back to his hut. (I'm not allowed to go there anymore,_

_last time I visited I broke the door!)_

_So, I'm going to sit and think, think about the rainbow. The colours are so pretty!_

_Yes, colours are pretty, but they have some very funny names…. I have an idea!_

_I'll give all the colours new names!_

_Green. Green is the moss on the walls inside my cave. It is the leaves in the trees._

_It is the Forest! Green is now called FOREST_

_Red…… Red is Aragog, and the other giant spiders with their red eyes, tiny tiny red eyes._

_Yuck, I hate tiny tiny eyes. Red is AROOGOG_

_Blue... is….umm. Blue is Luna! Her school tie is blue and grey, and her eyes are blue as well! Blue is LUNA_

_Pink! Pink is really easy! Pink is definitely Hagrid and his funny umbrella that does magic. Pink is HAGRID!_

_Purple. I definitely know what colour purple is! Purple is 100 percent Albus, Hagrid's best friend._

_Albus seems to really like purple. He also gave me a purple tent to shelter in when there are really bad storms._

_I always think of him when I see that colour. Purple will always be ALBUS._

_Orange is something a little complicated…..AH! It is Ron. It's Ron with brightly coloured hair, like burning fire._

_But luckily human hair doesn't burn like fire at all. So… Orange is RON ._

_Yellow is ……..is Hermione! It's Hermione because her eyes have those tiny bits, flecks, of yellow in them._

_They shine… shine like the stars! Yellow is HERMIONE._

_I'm happy now._

_This is proof my brother Hagrid is a good teacher._

_When he asks me next time what colours are in the Rainbow, I'l be able to tell him._

_I'l say………._

_The Rainbow is Red and Yellow and Pink and Green, Purple and Orange and Blue._

_The Rainbow is Aragog and Hermione and Hagrid and the Forest, Albus and Ron and Luna._

_The Rainbow is Hogwarts._

_The Rainbow is Friends._

_The Rainbow is Home_

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**By Dizi 85**


	40. Parvati Patil

**Disclaimer: If you recognise it as something even remotely related to Harry Potter, we do not own it.**

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**40. Parvati Patil**

She sighed as the rain pounded relentlessly at the windows, battering them with such force that she was vaguely surprised that they didn't crack under the pressure, and let huge torrents of water come gushing in. But of course, that would never happen; the Carrows had considerably upped the security at Hogwarts, the castle was virtually impenetrable. They weren't going to let a bit of rainwater stop them! It would be rather funny, she pondered, if it did. She glanced over at Lavender lying still on her bed, engrossed in some book or another. Lavender had been getting a particularly hard time from the new 'teachers', so Lavender had learned to be a good girl, to do her homework on time and Lavender did not have to agonize over her Dark Arts homework the evening before it was due in; Lavender knew better because Lavender had learned the hard way. And you'll learn the hard way too, she told herself firmly, if you don't concentrate. What was the point? It probably wouldn't be read anyway, simply skimmed over for words like 'dark', 'unforgivable' and 'Cruciatus'. She doubted they'd know the difference if she wrote 'the Carrows are mudbloods', it would simply be marked 'A+' along with a scrawled 'well done' at the top. But she wouldn't dare to take the risk. Raindrops appeared to trickle down her parchment as the meagre sunlight filtered through the storm clouds and illuminated the water dribbling down the windowpanes.

She reluctantly entitled her essay, '_The Unforgivables_,' and began to write. _Avada Kedavra, the killing curse. It cannot be blocked or deflected in any way and dodging it relies purely on the victim's agility. Death is instantaneous and painless, resulting in a flash of green light, then, phwap!, bodies on the floor. _Just because she was unwilling to take major risks, didn't mean she couldn't have a little fun, her own private rebellion. She thought for a moment, then came to the conclusion that she'd pretty much summed up the Avada Kedavra. _The Imperius curse. The Imperius can be used to control people however you wish, simply by saying the incantation 'Imperio', then the victim is at your command, a puppet in your hands with only evil pulling the strings. Many of the 'first war' Death Eaters used this curse as a false excuse to escape Azkaban when you-know-who—_she paused, looking over the last sentence, She scratched out the last word defiantly, then continued working. _Many of the 'first war' Death Eaters used this curse as a false excuse to escape Azkaban when Voldemort was defeated by Harry Potter. The 'puppet' is completely helpless to resist their 'master's' will, but some people have been successful at overthrowing the curse, namely Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. _But God knows where he is, she thought bitterly, our saviour, off gallivanting on some unknown 'mission', no word to us for months on end. She wondered if he knew how they were suffering, how they were being treated by the much-feared Alecto and Amycus Carrow. Her eyes came to rest on the empty, untouched bed in the corner of the room; it had been empty since the beginning of the year, they had known it would be.

Tearing herself away from the strangely mesmerizing sight of the crisp, white bed sheets, spread smoothly across the soft, unbounced upon mattress, she turned her attention back to the task in hand. Surely she couldn't have completely covered these two terrible curses in so few words? Had she truly expressed the horrific consequences of their use? She decided she didn't want to. Then something snapped. Because she _knew_ the consequences of these curses and she _shouldn't_. Seventeen years old, and already she knew the true effects of murder, torture and coercion. Lavender raised tired eyes to look at her sobbing friend. She too had seen too much, and simply lowered her eyes to continue reading. Tears meant nothing in this desolate world. They merely dripped from her face, diamond like, staining her work and making the ink run. And nobody saw the clouds parts, because nobody was looking. Nobody was looking at the Forbidden outside world. And nobody noticed as sunlight flooded the rooms, wriggling its way into every nook and cranny of the castle. Because they were blind to hope, an unrecognisable stranger in their beaten down existences. But somebody noticed when the colours crept in, reflecting off the mirror hung above the dressing table, projecting themselves onto her parchment. Parvati stopped sniffling, wiping the burning tears from her puffy eyes. She couldn't help but grimace when she caught sight of her tear-stained reflection. Then she noticed the rainbow, and smiled weakly. Because hope was alive again, hope that Harry might be on the other end of that rainbow, doing things for the greater good that would eventually dig them out of this hell-hole that a once safe, treasured place had become. She hoped, strangely, that Harry could see the rainbow too, for maybe it would give him hope too, and remind him what they were fighting for. Pure in itself, yet colourful and diverse, both light and dark. Brushing the last of her complacency away from her eyes, she put her quill to the parchment and began to write, with new vigour. _The Cruciatus Curse…_

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**By BonnieDog**


	41. Nymphadora Tonks

**Disclaimer****: All characters and settings belong to JKR. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**41. Nymphadora Tonks**

**The Most Colourful Black That Ever There Was**

If he cared, something deep down inside her knew that he'd come looking.

Nymphadora Tonks winced as the springs creaked on the old, careworn lounge. She suspected that it had formerly been quite pleasant, but now all that remained was a patchwork of scratches and gashes that ran through the faded, checkered fabric, revealing mustard yellow foam, cheap wood and dusty, white padding. Willing herself to remain calm, Tonks crossed her legs, for once not bothering about her shoes on furniture. Resting her hands on her knees, she inhaled. The room overwhelmingly musty – it smelt like a secret clearing in the Forbidden Forest, all wet earth and damp leaves and still air. Immersing herself into this strange, lonely place, she closed her eyes to wait.

Tonks had never been an introspective sort, but there was a first time for everything, she supposed, and this place rather leant itself to introspection. She was not used to the quiet. She liked light and colour and noise – one of those unbearable children who could not sit still – and to simply sit and exist, especially _here…_ She did not belong, not at all. But then again, that was defeating the purpose of her presence, anyway. She was not supposed to fit in: this was Remus' place, after all. Remus liked peace and calm and stillness, and by being in _his_ place, Tonks was mildly concerned that she might interrupt him: but then again, _that_ was entirely the purpose of her presence.

Although, there was probably no harm done if she could brighten the place, and Remus himself, a little. As her father had always said, she was Nymphadora Tonks, rainbow and all, the most unusual Black that there ever was.

She had always been colourful and, although a strange concept to most people, the fact that she carried colour with her wherever she went brought her comfort. It certainly hadn't brought _others_ comfort, although it had taken a while to understand that. This understanding had first started at the tender age of five, when her mother had advised her gently that morphing in public wasn't the best of ideas. For a while, she had been left with a little, niggling piece of self-doubt: that maybe _she_ was the one who was all wrong: perhaps her mother had been right, and she _was_ a little too colourful for her own good. But to suppress who she was, to suppress her colours, was simply impossible. Instead, she wore her hair pink and her eyes blue, and when she was home for the holidays, her mother could pretend to the neighbours that she was a Difficult Child and that They Had Tried Everything, with a roll of her eyes, as though a little colour was bad. The neighbours would cluck sympathetically, refrain from complaining about her loud music (what was the use, after all, if she was such a Difficult Child?) and quietly long for the day when she would return to her boarding school in the country.

She had never been able to understand why colour overwhelmed so many people. They wore muted shades and tones, subtle things, as though suppressing the true selves that a little colour might expose. Even Remus – unassuming, practical Remus – did not wear colour. In fact, he often seemed quite overwhelmed by her and _her_ colours, but then again, Sirius had always assured her that it was a good thing. Remus was so used to his comfort zones, his old friend had told her, and that shaking him up every once in a while was good for him. A little colour had never hurt anyone.

Tonks sighed wistfully. She missed her cousin fiercely – his easy laugh, his brotherly affection, his blunt advice, his willingness to treat her as an equal. It helped, she knew, that her mother was his favourite cousin, but Sirius, unlike almost everyone else, had welcomed her into the Order without any questions being asked. She was his relative and Moody's protégé besides: why wouldn't she be good enough? What did it matter, that her hair was pink and that she could change the shape of her nose by simply thinking about it? The Order needed a little bit of flair, after all.

Remus had told her once that he trusted Sirius' judgment above all others. Once upon a time, it would have been Lily, but she and James were long gone now, and Sirius was all he had left.

Ever since Sirius had died… Things hadn't been the same since that night.

Remus had gone quiet again; the joy had left his eyes, and he had stopped laughing… And Tonks had lost her colours.

He'd died, and a part of her (or rather, her self confidence) had been lost with him, and she did not even have Remus to share in her ironic laughter, that the last of the Blacks had stolen her colours.

Tonks shivered suddenly as a gust of wind slipped through a gap in the walls and circled the Shack. The stairway creaked under the weight of invisible steps, and the curtain rustled noiselessly. And somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Sirius whisper, "Don't fret, little cousin. He'll come around. He just needs a good smack around the head, first. And once you've done that, I'll give your colours back to you. All of them, and better and brighter than before. But only once you've helped him. Don't worry: he'll come."

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"I really wish you'd be sensible about this, Remus."

Remus Lupin glanced up, startled, to find Minerva McGonagall take a seat beside him, smiling wearily. She looked exhausted, and lines around her face even more pronounced, and for the first time, Remus saw his old Transfiguration professor and mentor for what she was: ageing and frail, rather than sprightly and strong.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, motioning for a house elf to bring an extra cup and saucer. Almost immediately one appeared beside him, and he thanked the elf kindly.

It had been a difficult night. Death Eaters in Hogwarts, a minor battle of sorts, Fenrir Greyback attacking Bill, and then on top of all else… Dumbledore's death had felled a heavy blow to the Order, and one that Remus wasn't quite sure they could withstand. Dumbledore, with his sparkling eyes and colourful robes, had brought light and hope to the Order. He had been their constant throughout years of dangerous missions and mounting casualties, and then even through the eye of the storm he had been a source of comfort and advice. To think of him as finally gone was something so _intangible…_

Minerva sighed, reaching up to loosen her hair.

"I don't know any more, Remus," she replied quietly. "I never thought… Everything's falling apart, and I can't do a thing."

Remus poured her a cup of tea, adding milk and sugar with his usual attention to detail, and set the saucer down before her. He knew precisely what she meant: the growing sense of helplessness that was creeping into all of their hearts, darkening their hope and dousing their laughter. He thought of the Weasley family and their bedside vigil of Bill, his heart beating with a steady, dull kind of pain. All Remus could feel was a sort of overpowering numbness. He was an onlooker to their grief, a source of comfort perhaps, but at the end of the night, all he could do, and all anyone could do, was wait.

Being a controlled person at heart, Remus didn't enjoy feeling so useless. He would much rather not think about it at all. If Lily were alive, she would tell him he was really just in denial; but Lily _simply_ wasn't about to burst into the kitchen and offer sage advice, no matter how much Remus longed for it. In her stead, Lily seemed to have sent his old mentor and friend, except that now, Minerva needed Remus' comfort just as much as Remus needed hers'.

"Drink," he advised.

Minerva chuckled weakly and obeyed. "I think I could do with something stronger," she murmured wryly.

Temporarily distracted, Remus looked at her in surprise, wonder etched across his face.

"_Never_," he whispered, delighted. "Oh, Sirius would have had a field day!"

Minerva eyed him reproachfully. He was right, of course: Sirius Black would have been the picture of delight, to hear those words escape her lips. "Nonsense. I never drink under normal circumstances, Remus Lupin."

Remus shrugged easily, the ghost of a chuckle in his tone. "That's hardly the point. The boys-"

He stopped, suddenly, the thought more painful than he had anticipated, and the smile died on his lips. Minerva patted his hand sympathetically, a sudden surge of affection taking hold of her. She'd always been fond of Remus, and witnessing his growth into adulthood had been one of the more rewarding experiences of her teaching years. Her classes had never been so interesting as they had with Remus and his friends as her students.

Remus smiled again, sadly, as if to brush the thought aside, though the pain in his eyes betrayed his true feelings. He was haunted, day and night, by the memories of laughter and carelessness, as though they formed a lifetime entirely separate to the one he was now living in. His friends had died for an ideal, it seemed, and now that the ideal itself had died… And all he had left was darkness and loneliness.

"What do I need to be sensible about?" he asked, recalling her earlier words. His voice was light, a blatant effort to change the topic. The gentle expression on Minerva's face deepened into a frown.

"Nymphadora. Remus, you're being quite ridiculous. You _know_ that, don't you?"

Remus sighed, running a hand through his sandy hair in a move that reminded Minerva distinctly of James Potter. Her heart ached to see this little mannerism of his subconsciously carried on by his old friend.

The sound of her name had jolted something deep within him, and quite unable to resist, his thoughts had immediately strayed to the vibrant young woman, with her wide, pretty eyes and infectious laugh.

"I'm much too old for her," he responded immediately, chipper tone forced and weary. "I'm dangerous, I'm poor-"

"And you've never met anyone quite like her," Minerva finished, holding his gaze unflinchingly. "Remus, do you remember the way Lily and James looked at each other? Or rather, the way James looked at Lily?"

Remus laughed humourlessly. "As though he couldn't believe his luck?" he offered dryly, the memory of his friend's hopeless affection almost heartbreaking.

Minerva returned his wry smile. "Almost. As though they couldn't believe the other were quite real. They were a rather endearing pair, I must say-"

"So long as James was concentrating in his classes?"

Minerva nodded. "_Merlin_, that boy was a walking distraction. And I think," she added sternly, " that _you_ missed _my_ point."

Remus raised his eyebrows mildly. "Oh, no," he protested, smiling. "The point was taken. I was just trying to avoid it."

"Remus Lupin, when you think no one else is looking, I've seen you look at Nymphadora the same way James looked at Lily, but as soon as anyone pays attention, you clam up again. You've got to stop this nonsense and tell her how you feel."

"Oh, she knows," he murmured quietly, staring into his cup of tea. His ears were bright red with shame as he recalled his quiet, awkward confession, and the way her pleased blush had lit her face with joy. "She knows only too well, and she's known all the long, which is why she won't give up on me. Sirius, the scoundrel, taught her to _read me_, you see."

Minerva inclined her head. "A difficult feat."

"He's had a lot of practice. Thought she could capitalize on the knowledge."

The smirk on his friend's face lingered in his mind's eye, the image of him teaching his young cousin all she needed to know impossibly comical. It had been hard, at first, to comprehend that they were related: Sirius, as Black as his name, and Nymphadora Tonks, the girl who carried a rainbow….

"I see."

"But the thing she doesn't understand is that I can't give her what she wants of me."

The pent-up frustration of Remus Lupin suddenly flowed freely, taking Minerva quite by surprise, although it was reasonable, she supposed, that such a controlled person was allowed to lose their head occasionally. She herself, on occasion…

"I'm a werewolf, a creature - this dark, untamable _beast_, and she's amazing, and _we_ are an impossibility."

"Nothing's impossible," Minerva replied, adopting Remus' own mild tone. "And I'm quite sure Nymphadora has measured her choice, Remus. She's a bright girl and an Auror, and she knows full well about your condition-"

"And she loves me all the same," he finished wearily, thoughts straying back again to the softness of her hair and the subtle, rainbow pigment of her eyes, and the colour that had slowly drained from her, the day that Sirius had died…

"Exactly. The problem is that you're thinking about this too much," Minerva told him gently. "You've always been a worrier, but enough is enough, Remus. You're not about to change her mind, and you're being stupid, sitting here moping about it when you could be…"

Remus listened to her trail off, imagining the possibilities she had left open for him to interpret. He sighed, drained his cup, and stood up.

"I should go and talk to her."

He sounded defeated. Minerva smiled thinly. "A wise decision, I think. I wish you luck."

Remus gave a jerky nod and left the kitchen abruptly.

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The air outside was cold now: a wind had risen, and it whistled around the castle walls eerily. The crescent moon cast barely enough light to see by over the castle grounds, but Remus' footsteps were steady as he took the familiar path. It was as though the years had stripped away, and all of a sudden he was a young boy again, anxious and very much alone, sneaking off with Madam Pomfrey to transform for the first time in a strange, lonely place…

He knew where she'd be without even thinking.

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"What are you doing in here?"

His voice was strained, weary and yet gentle, and Tonks jumped, eyes snapping open to find Remus leaning in the doorway. She sighed ruefully. _So much for constant vigilance… _Moody would be appalled with her. 

He stood in the doorway, sandy hair streaked with grey, a long, worn cloak swathed around his shoulders and beneath, as always, a crisp, dusty suit.

"I wanted to see," she replied evenly, gazing broadly around the room to take in the boarded up windows, the scratches along the walls, the torn curtains…

"See what?"

He sounded exhausted, and Tonks could not suppress the rising suspicion that he was humouring her, as always. The glint in his steady brown eyes was all at once frustrated, gentle and encouraging, with something else that she couldn't quite read - a look he seemed to reserve especially for her, these days.

"See where it happened," she replied promptly, meeting his eyes steadily. "This place was a part of your life for seven years, Remus. I wanted to see. It's important to you, so it's important to me."

He looked away, down at the floor, at the scrappy rug that lay carelessly before the long-empty hearth. How often he had lain on that rug, wondering what he had done to deserve his life. Now, he almost smiled as a similar thought drifted through his mind, although this time, it was rather _what have I done to deserve her_? He was too much trouble, he recited wearily. Too much trouble, too dangerous, too old. A creature of the dark, and she was a witch of the light – not to mention an Auror, and that she'd fallen in love with him probably contravened some of their rules, too, come to think of it-

"There's nothing to see."

Tonks stood, expression incredulous, gesturing wildly. He was like a wolf with a bone, she thought wryly, watching him. She could almost hear his thoughts, repeating that tired old mantra, the Reasons Why Remus Lupin Was Not Good Enough, for _anything_. "Nothing to see? Listen to you, you idiot!"

"You certainly aren't."

"I don't want to! You're being an idiot!" She smiled suddenly, and glancing back to his face, she met his eyes and wiggled her eyebrows teasingly. They were a distressingly mousey brown, and Remus decided in that instant that he missed her colour with a yearning that was not quite normal.

"And you're being impractical," he replied steadily, face struggling to remain impassive although the corner of his lips twitched with the telltale hidden smile.

Tonks grinned. "So?"

Her lips were pink, her eyes sparkled; inside her, somewhere, the colours lay hidden from his view, taunting him.

His eyebrows hovered halfway up his forehead, and he schooled his face to an expression that was distinctly anxious. "You can't afford to be impractical, it isn't safe."

"You can't afford to be an idiot, either."

A smile flickered onto his lips, now, but his eyes darted away toward the floor as though it was all he could do to resist her. Tonks watched him, satisfied, as he licked those reluctantly smiling lips. She felt a quiet thrill at the thought of all this: of the conversation they were having, and of the possibilities it opened, endless and exciting….

"No, I don't suppose I can be, can I?"

Tonks crossed her arms, willing him to glance up and meet her eyes. His determination not to look at her had suddenly made her feel inexplicably vulnerable.

"Sometimes, I feel as though I'm not good enough, you know," she confessed quietly. "I'm too loud and clumsy and childish. I know I can be embarrassing but… well… I _love _being me. And I love you, very much. I think you're worth it, Remus. You're absolutely worth it, and I wouldn't change who you are for the world."

Remus swallowed hard, not only unwilling but also _unable _to meet her eyes. Tonks seemed to sense this, for she attempted to move forward quietly, feeling the sudden urge to comfort him.

"Nymphadora," he pleaded quietly. Her name on anyone else's lips was offensive: from Remus, the word was magic. "_Please_, don't. My resolve – what little of it I have left – is wavering dangerously, I'll have you know."

Tonks bit back a smile. "Good," she murmured, moving even closer. "Then perhaps you're coming to your senses at last."

Finally meeting her eyes, he offered a gentle smile, extending a hand to cup her cheek. Uncertainty scarred his youthful face.

"This isn't a fairytale, Dora," he murmured, almost apologetically. "Not really the place or time for happy endings. I can't give you your rainbow. I'm… well, we've been through that. But Minerva is right, I suppose, and you're old enough and beautiful enough to make your own choices." He shook his head ruefully. "I just don't want you to make a mistake."

"No rainbows?" Tonks murmured, amused. She gestured at herself absentmindedly, frowning as she remembered her drab clothes and mouse-brown hair. "Hold on-"

Closing her eyes, Tonks thought _pink_. The familiar tingling sensation overcame her, and she felt Remus' fingers brush her hair, confirming her success.

Watching her transform had always been a privilege, Remus acknowledged as his hand extended of its own accord to brush her soft, bubble-gum pink fringe. It was strange, in a way that he had never acknowledged before, but they were similar, more similar than he had thought: she too was a creature of constant transformation, after all. She grinned up at him, eyes sparkling, oblivious to his thoughts and, as always, the laughter in her eyes seemed contagious.

"That's better," she told him cheerfully. "Now what were you saying about my rainbow?"

Remus couldn't help but smile. The careworn expression slipped from his face immediately as he relaxed, and Tonks breathed a sigh of relief.

"Much better," he agreed wryly.

Tonks nodded firmly and took his hand. "Absolutely. Anyway – my point is, Remus, that life may not be all rainbows and happy endings – and that would be boring, anyway – but there's nothing wrong with a bit of colour, every now and then."

"And you're absolutely sure? No regrets?"

Tonks stood on her tiptoes and kissed him gently. Remus inhaled sharply, savouring the softness of her lips on his, a myriad of thoughts running through his mind unchecked, the most important of those being, _so this is what it feels like to taste a rainbow…_

"No regrets."

**- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -**

Gentle fingers brushed her hair as they sat together on the old, worn lounge, Tonks tucked under his arm, Remus' head resting on hers.

"I'm glad you're back," she told him quietly. "I don't like miserable, selfless, self-sacrificing Remus, much."

"I'm glad you're back to you too," he confessed, quietly, a smile in his voice. "The lack of colour was scaring me, a bit. You wouldn't be you without the pink."

"I didn't want to be me. I wanted to be… someone else. Someone you'd finally notice."

Remus lifted his head to stare at her, incredulous. "Oh, _I noticed_."

Tonks chuckled. "That's what Sirius said. He said you'd notice, but you'd be too shy to do anything, so I would have to make the first move, and if you didn't take, I wasn't to give up, because you just needed time to get used to the idea. He said surprises were good for you."

Remus was shaking. For a moment, Tonks was alarmed to think he might be crying: but then suddenly, a small chuckle escaped his lips, and she glanced up to find his face etched with delight, shaking his head ruefully.

"Good old Padfoot, always sticking his snout where it isn't wanted."

"He was just looking after you," Tonks pointed out fairly. "You're his family, and us Blacks stick together. We're a loyal bunch, I'll have you know."

Remus couldn't escape the double irony of that statement, considering all of Sirius' family troubles over the years.

"I still can't believe the two of you are related," he told her dryly, planting a solid kiss on her forehead and savouring the feeling of holding her in his arms. "For a Black, Nymphadora Tonks, you're the most colourful person I know."

**- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -**

**By Lexie-H**

**Author's Note****: I've been sitting on this for ages. It surprised me, when the first round offers were first released, that no one claimed Tonks, and so when we released the second round, I couldn't resist claiming her for my own. She is, after all, an obvious choice when it comes to a Rainbow theme…**

Hope you all enjoyed, and please remember to review each chapter individually, as each belongs to a different author! There are still a few characters left, and if you are interested in a contribution, please don't hesitate to stop by the Reviews Lounge forum and join the project. Thanks for reading!


	42. Bill Weasley

**Disclaimer: We own nothing you recognise, just our own ideas. **

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**42. Bill Weasley**

**Rainbows End **

When he was four, Billy saw a perfect rainbow. It spanned the sky above The Burrow, arching overhead from the hills behind to the village in the valley below. He pointed it out to Charlie, who was less than impressed. Even at two, Charlie was hard to impress with anything that did not involve broomsticks or dragons or Mummy's cooking.

At four, Billy thought that life was pretty much perfect. Charlie was getting big enough to be fun to play with properly now, and if Mummy and Daddy looked worried sometimes, it was only about grown-up thing that he didn't have to concern himself with. And there were occasional golden days when Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon would arrive, in a flurry of noise and laughter, making Mummy smile and racing round the orchard with him and Charlie on their backs.

By the time he was ten-going-on-eleven, Bill had seen plenty of rainbows, but never a perfect one again. And he knew now that life wasn't perfect, though a lot of it was still good. There were definite disadvantages to being the oldest of six – no, seven since Baby Ginny arrived – children. Bill occasionally thought that if he heard the phrase _"set a good example to your brothers"_ once more, he might have to do something that would be a very bad example. And the amount of time he and Charlie spent rescuing Fred and George from trouble before Mum and dad found out about it, or being blamed for _not _keeping then out of trouble when their parents did find out was getting ridiculous.

Mum and Dad seemed to look worried all the time nowadays too. There were a lot of times when they would stop talking abruptly when he entered the room, and he and Charlie weren't allowed to look at the _Daily Prophet_ any more. Bill knew there was a war going on, of course. And – though no one had ever told him so, or even said it when they didn't know he was listening (He and Charlie did a lot of listening at doors lately in an attempt to find out what was going on) – he got the distinct impression that You Know Who was winning, and their side was losing. Even Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian looked worried when they visited, although they still smiled and played with Bill and his brothers. (These days it was usually Fred and George on their backs when they raced round the orchard.)

Then one day at the end of August, a few days after Ginny's arrival, Bill saw another perfect rainbow. He and Charlie had escaped to the orchard after breakfast, to get away from Percy and the twins who had been bickering continuously (or so it seemed) since Ginny's birth. It had been raining, and the orchard was a sea of mud, but the boys didn't mind (although Bill had a suspicion that their mother would be less than impressed when she saw the state of their clothes later). Bill looked up through the branches of the biggest apple tree, where he and Charlie were perched, and saw a rainbow arching over the hills behind The Burrow.

"Look at the rainbow, Charlie!" he cried. "That means something good's going to happen."

"No it doesn't," retorted Charlie, throwing the core of the apple he'd just eaten at his brother. "It's just 'cos it's been raining and now it's sunny. Rainbows don't mean anything."

"You," Bill told him dispassionately, "are boring. And you're wrong too. Uncle Gid and Uncle Fay just Apparated in the yard."

Charlie cheered, and the two boys slid out of the tree and raced back to the house. When they entered the kitchen, their uncles were sitting at the table drinking tea. Uncle Fabian had Ronnie on his lap. Percy, Fred and George were sitting at the table as well, all three of them looking sulky and cross. Their mother, who was pacing to and fro with a yelling baby in her arms, sighed at the appearance of her two eldest sons.

"Have you two been _rolling_ in the mud?" she demanded. "Go and put something decent on. Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian are taking you to Diagon Alley."

"Really?" Charlie's face lit up.  
"Just us?" asked Bill.

"Yes, just you. Go and get changed."

The twins began to complain. "It's not.."

"..fair. Why don't we…"

"… get to go?"

"Because Bill and Charlie are the oldest," Uncle Fabian told them firmly. "We'll take you two and Percy next week."

The twins and Percy, united for once, all glowered at him.

"But…" began one of the twins again.

"Don't argue Freddie, or we won't take you at all," ordered his Uncle Gideon.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George."

"Okay, sorry George, but it still applies."

"He's not George, you were right first time Uncle Gid," Bill told him as he and Charlie headed out of the door to go upstairs and change. Fred and George both made faces at him. Clearly the fact that he could tell them apart was adding insult to injury as far as they were concerned.

Diagon Alley was crowded with Hogwarts students and their parents getting ready for the new term.

Uncle Gideon ruffled his eldest nephew's hair and smiled. "That'll be you this time next year, Billy-boy," he said. Bill grinned, but Charlie scowled.

"Your turn will come, Charlie," said Uncle Fabian understandingly, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Yeah, a whole three years away," complained Charlie bitterly. "Three years! Bill only has to wait one, then he goes away, and I have to stay at home with Boring Percy and the Twins From Hell and the babies. It's okay for you and Uncle Gideon. You're twins. You got to go together." His uncles laughed, and Charlie scowled again at their lack of sympathy.

"C'mon," said Uncle Gideon. "Ice cream'll cheer you up." And, despite himself, Charlie was cheered up by three of Florean Fortescue's best ice cream sundaes. Bill only managed two and a half.

"If you two are sick tonight, your mother will kill us," remarked Uncle Fabian gloomily, but Bill laughed.

"Ice creams never make us sick, Uncle Fay," he informed him. "Only boring things do that."

They explored Diagon Alley thoroughly, looking in windows and deciding what they would buy if they were rich. It was nearly impossible to drag Charlie away from Quality Quidditch Supplies once he spotted the new Comet One Hundred in the window, and Bill was very taken by a beautiful tawny owl in Eeylops Owl Emporium. He was only persuaded to leave by a promise from his uncles to buy him an owl of his own when he started at Hogwarts.

All-in-all it was a wonderful day; one which Bill and Charlie never forgot.

"Bill," mumbled Charlie, once they were in bed that night.

"Wha'?"

"I think you were right about rainbows. P'r'aps they do mean something good is going to happen after all."

On a sunny morning four days later, Bill, Charlie, Percy and the twins were playing in the orchard when their father Apparated with a crack in the yard.

"Why's Daddy home from work now?" asked Percy curiously, while Fred and George raced each other to reach their father first. Arthur hugged the twins tight, and looked over their red heads at his eldest son.

"Bill, keep the others out here for now," he ordered. "I need to talk to your mother. I'll tell you all what's going on in a bit."

Bill nodded, a feeling of dread he didn't understand tugging at him as he led his brothers back to the orchard, while their father turned towards the house.

It was nearly an hour later when their father re-emerged from the house and came to find his sons. Sitting on a fallen tree, he pulled the twins onto his lap, holding them so tightly that Fred squealed and George cried, "Daddy, that hurts!" Their father loosened his hold slightly, and looked round at his boys before beginning to speak.

Bill still didn't quite believe it was true, not even now on the morning after the funeral. _"Dead"_ was something that happened to old people, to people who were ill, to people you didn't know. _"Dead" _couldn't mean Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian. They were young. They were full of life. They were going to buy him an owl…

"There's a rainbow, Bill." Charlie was looking out of their bedroom window, and Bill joined him there. "D'you think that means something good's gonna happen?"

Bill shook his head. "Nah," he said. "Rainbows don't mean anything. It's just 'cos it's been raining and now it's sunny. Rainbows don't mean a thing."

Arthur, coming to the door with Ronnie in his arms to call Bill and Charlie for breakfast, winced at the new hardness in his eldest son's voice. Ten was too young for anyone to lose their faith in rainbows. Far too young…

A/N The lack of an apostrophe in the title is deliberate... it would mean something quite different if there was one.

This is with thanks to lyin' because I would never have thought of including Gideon and Fabian in a story before reading her wonderful "Fools" I've put their deaths a year or so later than she does in her story because I wanted Bill and Charlie to be a bit older.

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**By Bad Mum**


	43. Albus Severus Potter

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling and other higher gods invented everything.**

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**43. Albus Severus Potter**

You are asking me about rainbows? I remember the time I first saw a rainbow…Yes, I'm 11 years old and this year I saw my first rainbow. Why is that so weird? I mean this metaphorically of course -I must have heard that word from Rose- I mean, I always knew what a rainbow was, I knew the basics. They come after the rain following the sun, everybody knows that. But I never really bothered to look up at them; I never paid any especial attention, they were too small, too common, too insignificant, they weren't really important. There were more important things in life than rainbows. Yes, I know what you are thinking; it's probably the same thing Lily thinks about me. _"You worry too much! You are too serious," _she says.

I do worry too much I guess. I worry about dad when he works late. I worry about James when he gets into trouble –which is, May I say, very often-. I worry about Rose when she's upset, I hate seeing her upset. And well, I could keep counting my worries. I worry about myself as well. I was worried to death when I came to Hogwarts for the first time. I was scared; I thought the sorting hat would put me in Slytherin. My mom always says that I'm so much like my father, and I know that he was almost sorted into Slytherin.

But once I got into Hogwarts, a new worry conquered my thoughts. Since I came here, I discovered things I didn't know before. They weren't good things, so I searched for possible answers to the questions building slowly inside my head. It didn't help that people kept staring at me constantly, some even dared to ask me about my parents. Others managed to tell _me_ stories about my own family, and since we are "still too young to know everything there is to know", according to my parents, some things were completely new to me. I didn't know which were true, and I certainly wanted to find out.

But apparently what was really amusing to everyone was the nature of my full name. I actually got people coming up to me to ask: "¿Are you _really _Albus _Severus_?" When I asked them if they had a problem with my name they would refuse to answer. But one day a fifth year Slytherin boy did dare to tell me what the problem was. I couldn't believe what he told me. A death eater? No, impossible. I didn't want to believe it, so I decided it was time to find for my self all the information that was missing for me.

I admit I got obsessed with the subject. I accepted Rose's help, For days she searched the library eager to find anything that could clarify what I had been told. But none of those books had what I needed, or at least what I thought I needed to read. But there was one very interesting thing in _Hogwarts, a History._ According to the book, the headmaster's office held a rather especial collection of paintings. I couldn't help but wondering if they would really be there. I had to try and find out, for I knew that was the only way I would find what I was looking for.

So one stormy night, Rose and I sneaked our way into the headmaster's office. I still don't know how I talked her into it. We walked our way through the lonely corridors. To me the storm only made things perfect, because nobody would be able to hear us. But I could feel Rose trembling silently next to me, I couldn't blame her. She isn't fond of storms, just like she isn't fond of spiders. She held tight to my arm the entire time, and grabbed on particularly hard every time a thunder stroke. I knew where the headmaster's office was, and I knew it was empty. Dad's map certainly came in handy that day. I was glad I risked my neck stealing it from James's trunk that same morning -not that he ever found out, it went straight back to his trunk the morning after-.

Rose was brilliant, as always. She stole the password to the office from uncle…well, professor Neville's desk. I had suggested her to confound him into telling her the password, but she was way smarter than that. She assured me he would have it written down on a piece of paper, and that would probably be in his desk. Of course, she was right. ..

After a couple of minutes we were finally there. We were inside the unknown territory. I was closer to clarifying my doubts. And I just…didn't know where to begin.

"There are too many portraits here". Rose pointed out through a Whisper "Which do you suppose…Oh look! The sorting hat!"

The hat was sleep. Well… at least it seemed sleep, I'm not sure if magic hats can really sleep. Anyway, Rose's words woke the hat up. He made a disapproval gesture as soon as he saw us. But before I could think of apologizing he stared with interest at both of us, as if he could recognize us.

"A Potter!" He said. "And a Weasley!, both in this office at this time of night. We use to see a lot of Potter in here…a long time ago."

I was terrified. I feared the hat would start screaming. But to my surprised he seemed to gain quick interest in us.

"Yes, both very difficult to place" he continued. "Just like…"

"Our parents" interrupted Rose with a proud smile. She seemed to have lost any trace of fear.

"Yes…"said the hat showing interest in Rose. "I remember having the same dilemma with that Granger girl. Ravenclaw or Gryffindor?, and…" he said turning his full body to where I was standing. I lowered my head, I knew what that hat was about to say and that could never make me proud "…and Slytherin or Gryffindor? But I stand by my choice, like I always do! Two more Gryffindors were more than fair", Said the hat demonstrating to be proud of his own self.

"Gryffindor… ridiculous _bravery_" Said a steady but cold voice behind me. My feet went stone cold and I heard Rose gasp clearly. But when I turned around there was nobody behind me. I looked for the source of the voice to find that it came from one of the portraits. A relatively young man with greasy black hair looked down at me, giving out the hardest look I had ever received. "Never prudent or smart, always trying to prove their foolish bravery. Always strutting, sneaking around the corners. I can see that they still don't impart prudence in that house. No, they never did. Did you happen to realize that this is the Headmaster's office, and NOT the main Kitchen? And as such it deserves some respect…"

"Now Severus, Don't be so hard. Curiosity is not a sin." For a moment I though that that second voice was talking to me, but of course… it wasn't. Severus was in fact the name of that horrid looking man. My heart stopped.

I turned to the second voice, which came from a rather big portrait right next to the headmaster's desk. I recognized him instantly. His long silver bear and blue eyes seemed all too familiar. I had seen that pleasant face before. I had seen it in all the books Rose had found for me, and I had seen it on the chocolate frog cards. I knew who that man was, everybody knew.

He instantly smiled. His blue eyes inspected me through his half moon glasses, as if he could recognize me, as if he knew who I was.

I stopped cold, I didn't know what to say next. Suddenly the whole idea of sneaking in there didn't seem so brilliant. I had absolutely nothing to say or to ask to Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. There was really nothing to ask him. I already did know everything. The real reason I was in there was the source of my middle name, but I didn't even want to look back at that man. I didn't want to confirm what I had been recently told.

"Did you sneak in here just to stare at us? Are we all so amusing to you?" said the cold voice behind me, keeping his accusing tone as sharp as humanly possible.

"I…I just…Well…I wanted to see, I mean no, I wanted to meet..." no real words were coming out of my mouth.

Dumbledore smiled at me again.

"It is a rather pleasant visit you pay us Mr. Potter, but to what may I attribute such an honor?" he said maintaining his smile along with his paternal voice.

The first nearly coherent words fell out of my mouth.

"I'm sorry…I guess I just wanted to meet you. I mean…my father named me after two Headmasters and well… I just thought…"

"Yes, he did. It created quite a commotion here the day I heard the news. But…me? Is it me the one you are so eager to meet? I don't mean to brag but, you must have read or heard everything you need to know about me," he said looking, at the other Headmaster, the one I was hiding my sight from.

Apparently rumors were true, Dumbledore could see right through people. Of course I knew everything there was to know about him. I didn't know everything I wanted to know about…_him_. That Slytherin boy told me that he had been a…death eater, and that nobody stops being a death eater. I couldn't let the word leave my head. I wanted to know anything that would at least clarify my impression of him, if that was possible now. Dad had mentioned him once, but he didn't say this. And then I remember what dad had said about him, and I remember the way that man had just insulted me. I finally turned to him trying to keep my glance firm.

"Foolish bravery," I said. "My father says you had it too. He says you were one of the bravest men he ever met".

The man arched an eyebrow, he twisted his mouth in a way I wasn't sure what it meant. What were my parents thinking? Of all the possible headmasters, I had to carry the name of the worst one. There were tons of other portraits there and none looked that harsh, probably none of them had been death eaters either, so why did it have to be that one? Even the sorting hat seemed better.

"Severus…did you look at him?"

"Of course I did, he is just like _Potter_ himself," he said, pronouncing our last name as if it was a plague.

Was that supposed to be an insult?

"No, Severus, Did you see his eyes?"

My eyes? Oh, that was just brilliant. I had been breaking my head these months to meet the bitterest man there ever was and the now the other one was more interested in my eyes. Yes, they are dad's eyes, and grandma's eyes as well. I love the fact but at that moment I was focused on more important things

"Yes Albus…I saw them."

"My eyes?" I said entering despair "Why do my eyes matter? It's not why I'm…"

"They matter Mr. Potter. They always mattered. Didn't you know that?"

"No…he was probably too busy sneaking around with that piece of parchment. He is probably too arrogant to understand it, they always are, they always were," claimed again the bitter man.

"I don't…! I'm not…! So? They are just green. They are just eyes." I wasn't sure of what I was talking about. That man had just insulted my family. I felt the urge of taking his portrait right out of the wall.

"Nothing is just what it seems Mr. Potter. I trust you know that…" said Dumbledore again.

"I trust he doesn't."

"I…I don't know…I guess. But right now I have other things on my mind," I answered.

"Yes I'm sure you do Mr. Potter. I'm sure you have questions, I'm sure you came seeking… for something."

I nodded. At last it seemed like we understood each other. I had tons of questions, many questions, questions my dad thought I was too young to be asking. I had questions that my family promised to answer us when we were older. Older? Nobody in my family had this name; nobody had to worry about being named after two apparently odd headmasters. James and Lily had our grandparent's names, that's simple, that's actually very nice. But I am carrying a tribute, and at least I deserve to know exactly why. When I was at home I didn't care as much for my name. I actually happened to like my name very much. But when I got here I turned into some sort of character everybody looked at, especially the teachers, who seemed overwhelmed by how much I look like my dad; but most of all because I have a very particular name. I'm not really complaining, I just want to know what there is to know.

I opened my mouth ready to ask whatever of all these things came to my head first, but once again headmaster Dumbledore got ahead of me:

"Did you find what you were looking for?" he asked suspiciously.

"No…actually I didn't. There is so much I want to know. I mean my name…I hardly know everything about it, I can't go through life carrying a name without knowing…"

"Have you ever looked at a rainbow Mr. Potter?" he interrupted.

What? That was the last straw. I was starting to think that the man was just teasing me.

But he wasn't laughing, he looked rather serious. He took off his glasses and cleaned them patiently with a rag of his robe. When he put them back on he seemed ready to explain himself, after noticing my silence.

"A rainbow. Have you seen any lately?"

"Well, no. Not really, but…"

"Did you know that they have a purpose in life? Have you ever used one? They aren't just rainbows you know, even if they look insignificant. They are not just what they seem. They are not just what people see. They are unique spectrums of light, and they happen to have everything you'll need to carry throughout your life."

I stood in absolute shock. He was completely serious. I turned to see the portrait of Severus Snape to find him completely serious as well. I suddenly felt Rose beside me. I had forgotten she was there. She too seemed completely interested. Apparently I was the only one finding all this too weird.

"Yes, they carry the principle of life with them, for everyone who is willing to take the gift. Through the red they carry strength, if you ever find yourself missing any. They are kind enough to bring to you yellow, if happiness ever falls out of your sight. Of course, if you ever lack of faith you can always take the blue with you. But if what you are missing happens to be security…rainbows will fill you with green."

I stood with my mouth open listening to the detailed explanation. Suddenly it didn't seem stupid, or insignificant, or crazy.

"You are still missing three," pointed out Rose, after a paused silence. Dumbledore looked at her pleased. He seemed to know who she was as well.

"Orange," he continued, "Orange can be available each time you need enthusiasm in your life and Indigo can be found in your search for wisdom".

"And…violet?" I asked to my own surprise.

"Yes, violet. So many things can be won through Violet: power, nobility, mystery…and magic. Yes, that has to be my personal favorite. What would life be without a little bit of magic now and then? You can take a color, every time you are lucky enough to encounter a rainbow. I often take Violet with me."

"No," said the same deep cold voice I had tried to avoid earlier. "I must differ with you, green will always be more necessary. It's essential," he turned his head looking straight at me. "Without it you can only find yourself…_lost_ along the way".

My mouth was dry. In a matter of moments I had met two of the strangest men ever. One of them seemed wise and eager to teach. The other one…well, I disliked the other one the minute he opened his mouth. But that unpleasant, intimidating looking man made me realize something. I had spent my first months at Hogwarts worried to death about another person's past. After waiting for years to come to Hogwarts I almost ruined it by trying to find what was long lost. Hearing people's comments had made me believe that the name I had always felt proud of was not good for me. I let my security slip away. I let perfect strangers make me feel insecure of who I was. I couldn't believe it, it was so clear. I had been too stupid.

The dry, hard looking man had taught me something, I don't know if he meant to, or if he was just insulting me again, but it didn't matter anymore. So what difference did it make what he had been when he was alive? Wasn't I secure enough to believe in the will of my own parents? Well…I am now. It was his past, not mine. I just carried the honorable tribute, even if I didn't know why. I wasn't Albus Dumbledore, I wasn't Severus Snape. I didn't represent them. I represent Albus Severus Potter, proudly.

I felt silence conquer the room. I could still hear the rain outside, but no longer had I heard the thunders. I knew they were all staring at me. They were probably waiting for me to say something.

"Is there still something you wish to know…Albus?" asked Dumbledore, pronouncing our name for the first time.

"No", I said. "It's okay."

It was okay. I didn't need to know more. I'll know it in time. Right now I had to focus on my own life, not someone else's. I had to stop worrying so much for things I couldn't handle. Maybe I wouldn't stop worrying about everything, but I would certainly stop worrying about _this_. I finally looked at the man that had surprised me the most.

"Thanks," was all I said to him. I didn't expect anything in return. He arched his eyebrow and twisted his mouth again, and since I didn't know what it meant I decided not to worry about it.

I looked at Dumbledore and smiled at him. He smiled back and gestured with his hand a farewell.

"Until your next visit Albus," he said. I nodded. I would probably return, but not soon. I wasn't going to take another round of insults so soon. Rose smiled at him as well and we both left the room.

We walked back through the corridors in complete silence. Rose kept smiling; she seemed even more pleased than me. As we walked I thought of how much I could have missed from life for not noticing those small things Lily is always talking about. Maybe they weren't so small after all. I thought of the colors, they really did seem like the principle of life, it all made sense. I had gone to that office that night looking desperately for something; instead I left with so much more.

When we got to the common room I noticed how late it really was, but as I headed for my room Rose called me back.

"No! Let's wait!" she said, getting comfortable on an armchair.

"Wait? For what?"

"For the rain to stop."

"Rose that could take hours."

"Exactly."

I nodded and went back to find myself a comfortable chair as well. For some reason I felt rested. I wasn't worried or intrigued anymore. I had the patience to wait a few hours. I also felt capable to wait for the right day to find out more about that man. I have to admit that I still don't know if his last statement was about me…or himself. I bet he was talking about himself, but I won't know that yet.

"Al! Wake up! Hurry!"

I opened my eyes to find the common room filled with light, it was morning light. I rubbed my eyes and spotted Rose standing next to the window.

"Come on! Hurry!", she said.

I stood up and walked next to her, knowing what she was about to show me. But when I finally reached it I couldn't hold my surprise. It was amazing, huge, and perfectly clear. It was my first rainbow, and it was perfect. All seven colors were there, waiting to be taken.

"Which are you choosing today?" she asked

I looked at her and smiled

"Come on! Pick one!"

"Which would you pick?"

She glanced at the perfect rainbow once more.

"I think I'll take… blue!"

That's funny, I was sure she'd take wisdom.

"Well? What about you?"

I smiled again. What else was I supposed to take?

"Green…" I said, just to be sure.

She laughed, and we stood there, waiting for the rainbow to disappear…which took quite a while.

Now? Now I always look up after the rain is gone. I have to take a color with me you know.

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**By kmovie**


	44. Lavender Brown

**Disclaimer****: All characters and settings belong to JKR. We just like to play with her ideas. **

* * *

**44. Lavender Brown**

Sitting quietly at a desk in the Hogwarts Library was a very normal girl. She had normal friends, did normal things, and went about everything in a normal way. She looked normal, thought normally and seemed very, very normal.

"Lavender. Lav-en-deeeeeeerrrrrrrrr. Lavvy-lav-lav-ender."

She sighed miserably to herself.

"Brrrrrrrrrrrrrown. B-row-n. Brown."

She sighed again. Her parents had named her with two colours. She didn't mind that fact, particularly. The thing that upset her most was that neither of the colours happened to be in the rainbow – the one thing that Lavender loved more than hot chocolate and teenage boys (not together, of course).

She hated her name. Absolutely loathed it. It was just so..._normal_. She didn't really like normal. She was sick of it, to be frank. She was sick of her normal life, her normal friends, her normal attitude, even her normal appearance. She wanted to be different. Unusual. Not normal.

"I need a change," she said to herself and stood up. She collected her books, ink and quill and walked out of the Library and off to her dorm room. She peeked her head into the dorm and double checked nobody else was around. She didn't really need an audience.

She gently placed her book bag on her bed and evened out a crease in her sheets. She gracefully pulled her freshly-cleaned wand out of her pocket and walked to the shared bathroom. She looked into the mirror.

She sighed again. "Here goes..."

-------------

She'd been receiving looks all afternoon. And she could truthfully say she enjoyed every single one of them. But her friends weren't as pleased with the newly found attention.

"Look, Lav. We know it's your choice and we fully appreciate your decisions and opinions, but don't you think you went a _little too far_ with this?" Pavarti asked, looking to her other friends for support.

Lavender shook her head. "Guys, I know you may be against it, but I needed a change."

"But dying your hair _rainbow_?" Ashley King screeched. "What kind of change _is_ that?"

Lavender shrugged. "Don't you like it?" she asked, hurt.

Ashley looked bewildered. "Like it? Like it? I HATE it with a passion!"

Lavender frowned and stormed off, tears threatening to pour down her face. She ran back to the dorm room and into the bathroom. She whipped out her wand and immediately changed her hair back.

She actually felt better.

Rainbows, she decided, were too normal.

* * *

**By RabbitohsGirl**


	45. Teddy Lupin

**Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to JKR. We just like to play with her ideas.**

* * *

**45. Teddy Lupin**

His sparkling green eyes and often changing hair colour, reminded anyone who knew him of his mother. However, his fierce loyalty and ragged good looks reminded them of someone different. Teddy Lupin was definitely his fathers' son. Nor did anyone let him forget it.

"Your parents were great people Teddy," his godfather Harry was always telling him. "They died fighting a great war for us all. Your father was the best defence teacher I ever had at Hogwarts."

To be honest, Teddy was getting a bit tired of it all. Sure, he admired his dead parents, but he wished he could be referred to as a separate person. Rather than being compared to his mother and father all the time.

His girlfriend Victoire was more supportive. "I think of you as a great man Teddy," she was always telling him. "I don't care if I've never met your parents before- I'm just glad I met you."

This, however, was not always comforting to him.

"Don't worry about it mate," George said, when he brought the conversation up one afternoon at the burrow. "I can't remember how many times I used to get compared to Fred- I still do in fact. Think of it as an honour."

"Yeah whatever," muttered Teddy earning himself a thump on the arm and a sharp glare from Harry.

When he was younger, Teddy always sat at the window on stormy afternoons, staring out and wishing for a rainbow afterwards. On the rare occasion that one did appear he would shout out to Harry and Ginny, "Uncle Harry! Auntie Ginny! It's a rainbow!" after which he would promise to himself, "One day I'm going to follow that rainbow- to wherever it takes me!"

Of course, at 19, Teddy was a bit old for rainbows now. He was a little annoyed with them really. They never did anything, they just sat there in the sky. Harry, of course, was upset that Teddy never wanted to go outside and look at rainbows anymore. He took Albus, James and Lilly up the hill all the time- and would often invite Teddy too. Still each time he would be answered with the same,

"Sorry- I'm too busy. Maybe some other time."

Teddy never went out anymore in fact. He would often just stay in his room for weeks on end, just staring blankly at the wall.

Eventually Harry was at his wits end and turned to George for help. He knew his brother in law was always good for cheering people up.

George knocked on Teddy's door earnestly.

"Hey mate- it's George. May I come in?"

He was answered with a grunt- which he took as the affirmative. Stepping into Teddy's room he noticed that the walls were completely plastered in pictures of rainbows. Posters and spell imprints of them were sparkling at him from all sides of the little box room.

"Teddy, what?"

"This is my secret, Teddy grinned up from his bed where he had been lounging. "I want to create a rainbow."

George was confused. "What do you mean?"

Teddy tapped his nose. "I told you- it's a secret. Just bring Harry and Gin, and Gran and everyone up the hill tomorrow evening at midnight. You'll see then."

George was still baffled, but he raised an eyebrow and said no more. He had definitely been a bad influence on little Teddy.

Stepping down the stairs he met a worried Ginny in the kitchen. Hugging his little sister, he smiled at her.

"Don't worry. Teddy's fine."

The next evening, just as they had promised, a large party set off from the burrow and slowly traipsed up the hill.

George and Percy led, joking as they went along. Following them were George's wife Katy and Mrs Weasley, Teddy's grandmother, Bill and Fleur and Victoire, Rose, Hugo, Albus, James, Lilly, Mr Weasley, Ron, Hermione, Harry, Ginny and finally Charlie.

Teddy was standing at the top, watching the party approach. He grinned to himself- it was now or never.

Stepping back, he pointed his wand to the sky and muttered the spell he had memorised before.

From his wand shot sparkling colours which combined together in the sky.

Harry was the first to see.

"Look up!" he shouted to the others. They obliged and at once their eyes went wide in astonishment.

A sparkling rainbow hung in the sky, each colour shimmering in the night. However, even as the party watched, the rainbow began to change. Shapes emerged from each colour and they themselves hung in the sky. Soon smiling down on the group was a clear picture of Lupin and Tonks holding a small baby with bright blue hair. Underneath, written in the familiar loopy handwriting of Lupin himself was the message: _It's a boy! Lots of love to the family from us and our baby boy Teddy Lupin! We're still alive and as happy as we can be! XXX _

Tears sprung to the eyes of the family watching and Harry hugged Ginny to him as a tear rolled down his cheek- the familiar message hanging above them.

Teddy grinned down at the family- happier now than he had been in a long time. He had found the picture in an album at home, and decided that it was time they saw it again.

"Teddy!"

Teddy looked down the hill and saw Harry smiling at him happily, arms spread open. He grinned and ran down to hug his Godfather.

"You really are your fathers' son Teddy," laughed Harry. "But that doesn't mean we think you ARE him. You're much more…." He struggled to find the right words. "You're much more werewolf-like than him!" suggested George, laughing.

Harry agreed. "Much, Much more!"

Teddy grinned back- rainbows were much cooler than he had originally thought.

* * *

**By****HaruhiXHikaru**

**General Note: Thank you everyone for all the support this collaboration has received so far! For those who've not heard yet, we now have a brand new project open, for a Christmas themed collaboration. As per usual, everyone is welcome and invited to join in! Thanks for reading and reviewing **

**- The Reviews Lounge**** team  
**


	46. Draco Malfoy

**Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to JKR. We just like to play with her ideas.**

* * *

**46. Draco Malfoy**

**Chasing Rainbows**

Rainbows had always disconcerted Draco.

They were unabashedly bright and beautiful, and no matter how hard you tried, a rainbow couldn't be touched. This bothered Draco, and his young mind couldn't comprehend why a rainbow got to be special enough to gaze upon the world from so high above and never need to join in.

Draco liked hurting things; it was a dark obsession he claimed ownership to. He loved stealing other children's toys, or insulting them, so that they burst out crying and ran away. He wasn't a bad person (at least, he didn't think he was), it was their own fault that they got hurt: they weren't strong enough. His mother and father had always taught him that crying was for the weak and foolish, and he counted himself as neither. So he sneered and smirked at the other boys and girls as they wailed, making them cry even more, and it made him feel better about himself. If he was making other people miserable then he was clearly better than them, and that felt good.

Draco could hurt several things, but one thing that he couldn't hurt was a rainbow, because rainbows are never close enough. He had tried on several occasions to find the end of the rainbow, not for leprechaun gold, but just so he could see whether rainbows can hurt too. He had failed every time, yet he had never given up his goal of reaching the end. He was forever chasing rainbows.

He thinks that's why he is drawn to the girl on the other side of the shop he visits with his mother today, because he has never seen anyone who is more like a rainbow. She has vivid pink hair that spikes up and frames her heart-shaped face, and she wears a bright yellow t-shirt, jeans and red sparkly shoes. _Muggle clothes_, he notes with contempt. She is arguing animatedly with a tall brunette woman who Draco presumes is her mum. He looks round at his own mother and sees she is too busy examining a silver handbag to notice if he slips away for a moment. He edges closer to this fascinating person, curious to hear what the mother and daughter are talking about.

"Really, Nymphadora, don't you think that your hair is a bit too bright? Your natural colour is pretty, why don't you wear that more often? And stop slouching, you'll end up like the Hunchback of Notre Dame!" the mother admonishes.

_Nymphadora? What a ridiculous name,_ he thinks, sniggering quietly.

"Who's the Hunchback of Notre Dame?" the rainbow girl called Nymphadora asks, staring critically at her fingernails.

She screws up her face and, to Draco's amazement, her fingernails change from a dark violet colour to the same shade of yellow as her t-shirt. She smiles as though satisfied with the result, and looks back at her mum.

"Don't you pay any attention in Muggle Studies? He's a character in a Muggle book, he lives in the Notre Dame cathedral in Paris, and – Nymphadora, are you even listening?"

She isn't listening, her back is turned and she's examining a tiny pink bag interestedly. Her mother clears her throat, and she turns around as though surprised and says, "Oh, were you saying something?" her face a such picture of wide-eyed innocence that only the amused twinkle in her dark eyes gives the fact that she is winding her mum up on purpose away.

The mother sighs irritably, but her expression softens as she smiles and says "You're too much like your dad for your own good, you know" and the girl (he can't quite bring himself to say 'Nymphadora' even in his mind, it's just too silly-sounding) laughs.

"I'll go and get your new schoolbooks if you stay here and get yourself a bag" the mum says, turning to leave before adding as a second thought "a nice, big bag, there's no sense in getting that little one you saw earlier, you won't even get a single textbook in it!" to which the girl pouts slightly.

Her mum leaves, and it takes Draco a moment to realise the girl is looking over at him concernedly.

"Are you okay? Did you lose your mum?" she says in the voice that grown-ups and older boys and girls seem to reserve for small children. This irritates Draco: he is six and a half years old (woe unto the person who forgets the half), not a pathetic tiny baby.

"My mother's at home. I shop on my own." He lies, trying to make himself look taller.

"Right. What's your name?" she asks. Somehow, Draco gets the impression she doesn't believe his lie, which irritates him further.

"Draco."

"I'm Tonks," she says.

He frowns "No you're not, your mum called you Nymphadora."

"Yes, but nobody else ever calls me that. She was the fool that gave me the name and she's the only one foolish enough to use it." Tonks explains.

"Oh. Well, I think Tonks sounds silly too, it's not much better than Nymphadora" he tells her bluntly.

She laughs, which annoys Draco. Can't this odd girl see that he is insulting her? Why isn't she upset?

"Yeah, it does sound a bit silly, doesn't it? You don't meet many people called Nymphadora Tonks. Mind you, you can't talk with a name like Draco, can you?" she challenges, sticking her tongue out at the little boy.

Draco blushes furiously "Draco Malfoy sounds miles better than Nymphadora Tonks!" he fumes at her, fists clenched.

"Hmm, maybe. Did you say Malfoy? Why do I recognise that name?" she says, frowning slightly, before shrugging her shoulders. "So really, where is your mum?"

"Don't know. How did you do that thing with your nails?" Draco blurts out before realising he has just admitted to lying earlier.

"What, this?" and with that she screws her face up like she did earlier, but this time her hair goes bright green.

"Yeah, that," he nods, trying not to look impressed, though he is. "How'd you do it?"

She shrugs her shoulders again. "I'm a Metamorphmagus, I was born able to morph my features."

"What makes you so special? Why can you do something that most other people can't?" asks Draco, because as far as he can see, the only special thing about her is her ridiculous name, and that's not really an achievement.

"I have absolutely no idea, but I think that everyone is the way they are for a reason. You're special in your own way." She smiles at him.

He is confused. "What's my special thing then?"

"Well I don't know, I only met you five minutes ago! You seem quite well spoken for your age though. How old are you anyway, four? Five?"

"Six and a half, actually." He scowls at her.

"Oh, you look younger. I'm fourteen," she tells him, not bothering to apologise for her error.

He is about to respond angrily, when he sees her mother coming back towards them laden with books.

"Dora, have you still not picked a bag yet? For the sake of Merlin, you are one of the most indecisive people I've ever – oh, hello there," she stops abruptly, noticing the little blonde boy looking up at her from beside her daughter.

"This is Draco, I think he's lost his mum," Tonks says, concern back on her face.

"Well, what's her name, we can ask one of the shop assistants to cast a Sonorous and find her for you." The woman smiles kindly, and Draco finds himself smiling back despite himself, because for some reason he feels like he can instantly trust this woman. Also, he was beginning to feel scared that mother would leave without him.

"Her name's Nar-" he starts off, but is cut off with a very uncharacteristic shriek from the woman in question.

"Draco! Come here at once, get away from that filth NOW!" she yells, looking rather unhinged, and Draco obeys immediately, terrified of his normally restrained mother for the first time in his life.

"Excuse me, what did you call me?" Tonks says, one acid green eyebrow raised as well as her voice, temper flaring up immediately.

"Narcissa, will you please refrain from talking about my daughter that way? It's just that it'd be rather embarrassing for the wife of Lucius Malfoy to get involved in a duel in the middle of a Hogsmeade shop, now wouldn't it? Especially if she had lost said duel, which you undoubtedly would. If I remember correctly you were always the weak, foolish one." Tonks' mother's voice is dangerously low, and Draco can feel the anger emanating from the woman, though he doesn't quite understand the situation. Why had mother gotten so angry, was it his fault?

"Wait, you mean that's...?" Comprehension dawns on Tonks' face as her mum gives her a curt nod, and then even more rage.

"We're better than this, Draco! Come on, we're leaving now." And with that, his mother grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the shop.

He glances back at the rainbow girl, and she glares at him as though he has offended her. Which was what he wanted, but now he sees that he'd rather have made her smile again. He is out of the shop and well out of sight of them now, but he is still trying to work out the events that had just taken place.

When he gets home, his mother yells at him for the second time in his life, the second time in the space of one day. She tells him that the girl is a common, filthy half-blood and her mother a disgusting blood traitor, and these are the very worst kinds of people, and doesn't he know never to talk to strangers? He just stands there and nods when appropriate, and later when he goes to his room and the house is quiet he thinks he hears strangled sobs coming from downstairs. He tells himself it's the house-elf, because crying is for the weak and foolish, and his mother is neither, no matter what the disgusting blood-traitor with the kind eyes and warm smile had said.

(And he never chases a rainbow again.)

* * *

**By TheOriginalHufflepuff**


	47. Oliver Wood

**Disclaimer: We own nothing**

**47. Oliver Wood**

"Oliver?!" I hear Katie yell outside of the locker room. "You in there?"

I walk outside. I guess the rain had gone away. Why couldn't the weather be like this for the game a couple of hours ago? The air was somewhat still a little chilly from the rain. But other than that, it was perfect outside. But the weather conditions didn't matter. A loss was a loss.

"Thank Merlin you're okay. We were wondering why you weren't up in the infirmary seeing how Harry was. Fred and George said you might be possibly drowning yourself in the showers. I knew they were joking, but I just wanted to see if you're okay." Katie tells me.

"Might as well drown myself in the showers. That's it. We have no chances of winning the cup this year." I tell her.

"Yes, we do. All we have to do is..." She stops for a second, and points to the sky.

"What?!" I respond, and then notice what she's pointing to. A rainbow.

"I don't get rainbows" I tell her.

"How can you not 'get' rainbows" she asks.

"How can a horrible storm produce such beauty. It doesn't make any sense." I reply.

"Rainbows give us comfort. They give us faith and hope in the worst of situations. Like now. We can win Wood. You just got to believe."

I slightly smile.

"You coming back up to the castle?" she asks.

"Yeah." I say. I take once last glance at the rainbow. All the negative thoughts that occupied my mind minutes ago leave my body. I then join her, ready to face the challenges ahead of me.

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**By KristyT23**


	48. Alice Longbottom

**Disclaimer: We own nothing. **

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**48. Alice Longbottom**

Lily was like a rainbow; a constant stream of colours that seemed to dominate any situation. Her emerald eyes were filled to the brim with so much emotion that sometimes I was afraid she would cry, and often, in private, she did. It wasn't only because she was sad – quite the contrary, she sometimes cried from excessive happiness, of being too cheerful; that was one aspect that confused me, and I put it down to her uniqueness, the one of the things about her that no one else I knew displayed.

Another reason Lily was like a rainbow was her vivid red hair. I believe it's what attracted me to her in the first place, and before me, though I did not know it at the time, Severus Snape and James Potter. In retrospect, maybe she should have dyed her hair a brilliant shade of blue to ward James off, because then, I wouldn't have had to listen to all those years of complaints, then later on, her constant stream of chatter about how good James was to her (I wasn't jealous, mind you, I had my darling Frank at my side then). Or perhaps, since I'm going down this road, I wish she'd just never met him at all, because then she wouldn't have died; my best mate wouldn't be buried under a ton of bloomin' dirt right now!

But I've lost my point – it's not like he wouldn't have found her in the end anyway, and the prophecy would still have been made. My point is, that Lily was a rainbow, both in colour and appearance and personality. I've already mentioned her eyes and hair, but I believe her lips, so pink, were apart of her rainbow trait as well. If Lily smiled at you, you knew it to be a good omen because those lips, apathetic to any who wasn't a close friend, hardly ever upturned for no reason. I believe it's part of the reason the Marauders pulled as many pranks as they did: to make the apathetic Gryffindor smile, if only once, simply for them. Well, perhaps it was simply James then and not the Marauders plurally.

Her clothes, so brilliant in colour, were apart of her – she always wore them under her uniform, not caring whether they clashed with her face or eyes or hair. And though she would never care to admit it, I always knew she worried about the way she looked, as well as her studies (though she would fervently deny any sort of need to dress socially acceptably). For instance, she never wore the same colour twice in the same week – one day she'd wear a bright yellow sundress, blinding everyone with the combination of yellow and red, even though I told her it was in her best interest not to wear reds, yellows, oranges and pinks with her hair colour. The next day she might go in a totally different fashion direction, and wear black leggings over a large, baggy indigo shirt, quite a contrast in comparison to the day before. Only I understood her need for diversity, although I do think the two most prominent men in her life, Severus and James, had somewhat of an inkling of it.

I think my favourite by far was the day in which she came over to my house for the family Christmas party in our sixth year and she wore a floor-length, strapless emerald green ball gown. I said she looked stunning; she said she looked like a Christmas tree. I said it accentuated her eyes; she said it made her look like a two-knut whore. Needless to say, I never saw her wear it after that, nor did I ever see her look as stunning (except perhaps on her wedding day), though she did occasionally wear emerald green again, when I insisted upon it – usually in small doses.

If my memory is correct, I remember Sirius' favourite outfit on her (though he'd never publicly say it) was a pinstriped blue suit that she had been trying on for laughs when we'd all gone shopping and dragged the boys along. Naturally, since James could never refuse Lily anything, he'd come and his friends were simply there for support. It was then that she was modeling it, and I remember the look upon her face – wrinkling her nose at the Muggle-version-of-McGonagall of it all, but laughing as she admitted that it did look good on her, especially with her hair knotted up in an elegant twist. Sirius had walked in and taken one look at her, deeming it an immediate improvement (he'd always claimed she looked like a twelve year old child, but we all knew he was never serious, if you'd pardon the over-used pun), causing her to roll her eyes, stalk back into the stall and get changed.

It's these simple things, the excessive colour, laughter and luck she brought into my – our – life. I remember her, and then I look at myself, and I think, why did it have to be her, why not me? But then I immediately feel guilty, remembering the prophecy and my own son, Neville. I could not wish anything upon my sweet angel child, though I also feel guilty for thinking that, because it means that Lily's son would be the child of the prophecy. Either way, I would feel guilty, and my life becomes even greyer and dull than it had been.

I must admit, with Lily's death, colour seems to have faded out of the world. Out of everything. Why aren't I good enough to bring the colour back? The rainbow? I look in the mirror and see my reflection; my blonde hair so thin it's impossible to style and the clear blue of my eyes, true I still hadn't lost some of my pregnancy weight, and I would never have the grace Lily did, but I wasn't ugly. I dress now in drab colours of black or grey, because the colours hurt, even now, maybe even especially now since it's been nearly a year since her death – too long, I'm probably experiencing something akin to Lily withdrawal symptoms. The colours hurt, because they remind me of Lily and her rainbow.

Sometimes I catch Frank looking at me with a certain look in his eyes that I've come to understand is worry. I know I'm hurting him by clamming up, and that I probably haven't been acting as I should have, now that I'm a mother and wife. But how does one explain to her husband that she's lost the colour in her life? I've taken recently to hiding in my room, Neville left with Frank's mother, the curtain's drawn and the light switched off. It's probably not healthy and I know my skin's gotten paler, whiter, devoid of any colour at all, much to my cynical amusement – I'm becoming a ghost, losing Lily has made me lose myself.

I have never been close to being a rainbow; I have never had the energetic capacity for it, nor the outgoing personality and the vibrant attitude towards life – that was all Lily. I preferred to think I was her backbone, her spellotape, the thing that held her together when our world was falling apart. This was, I like to believe, put to the test only a year and three months ago, when the prophecy had been made. Suddenly, it was my child against hers, and suddenly, I felt as though I couldn't be there for her – shouldn't be there for her. I just couldn't bear the thought of her child dying at Voldemort's hands, but my child? My own flesh and blood? The child that I carried in my womb for nine months? It was impossible, and the thought made me sick.

But now, looking back on it, I suddenly wonder if there couldn't have been another way. Maybe I should have called on her more often, tried less to distance myself away from her, away from the pain. I say that I lost my rainbow the day she died, but in truth, my rainbow disappeared long before that, when the prophecy was revealed to us and the abyss between my best friend and I sparked and grew. I abhor my weakness – would Lily be shutting herself away right now? Would Lily be as weak and cowardly as I am now, not seeing my son and husband, simply because she missed me? Somehow, I doubt she, with her colourful personality, could have existed in a world of grey and darkness, shut away from those she loved.

This marks a new difference between us, I suppose. My inability to move on. But do I want to move on? Do I want to open the shutters, shower, and go down to eat something? Shower, maybe, but that is probably more due to my sensitive nose than to my willingness to forget Lily and move on with my life. Forget all the times we'd shared, all the tea parties, school dances – all the pranks we'd lived through.

A man once said, "If you love them, let them go" and here I am, trying to accomplish that stupid goal. I do love Lily, but how do I let her go? Do I simply forget? Do I simply get up one morning and say, 'oh, I think I'll make some scones today' and move on? I don't think I could bear it if that were the case, I don't think I even want to let her go, whatever some man said or not.

I like to imagine Lily in a wonderful place, looking down on me with James in a field of flowers with a creek babbling nearby, where the sun is always shining and… perhaps a Quidditch pitch in the vicinity for James. If Lily were to look down on me, would she be shocked or appalled at the lack of colour? The lack of passion? … Would she want me to move on? Sometimes, when I'm really tired and Frank insists upon leaving the window open to 'get some fresh air', I think I can hear her voice on the wind, telling me to go check on Neville, or to eat something. Even in death, she must be taking care of me, watching out for me. That is my opinion, and the only other one I can think of is that I'm going mental – and maybe I am, who's to say? Who's to say that losing my best mate has made me lose my mind?

Now that I think about it – I mean truly think about it – I can easily come to the conclusion that Lily would want me to move on, to live, if only to remember her. If I surround myself with colour, with rainbows, with everything Lily, would that make the loss bearable? Would it make whisper-on-the-wind Lily happy? It would certainly appease Frank. I imagine Lily would be disappointed at my behaviour, appalled at how devoid of colour I am. I imagine her scolding me, hands on her hips, red hair flying on the wind.

Maybe I am losing my mind, for the image I can see clearly in my head certainly does not constitute a sane person.

A sign – that's what I need, a sign. A sign that Lily wants me to move on, or at least to be more alive. I don't know what I'm looking for as I move towards the window, but my heart rate increases and I can feel the adrenaline rushing through my body – to feel something, anything feels nice after feeling nothing but emptiness, the numbness that accompanies losing a loved one.

I try to open the window, but the curtain is hard to pull through lack of use. Eventually, I manage it though, and it's night. The disappointment that follows my adrenaline high marks a new low for me – I suppose I had been half-expecting a rainbow, or a dove or the sun flashing in my eyes from a certain angle – I suppose I had been half-expecting a ghost-like, surreal Lily to show up and frown at my appearance. A beam of light catches my attention from the corner of my eye and I frown; a light?

My spirit – or what's left of it – uplifts slightly before I realize it's only the light that Frank charms to be permanently light, a light so I'm never in the permanent darkness; his fear that if I'm in the dark for too long, I'll be gone from him forever. Upon closer inspection, the corner of my lips turn upward slightly – I have my sign right there.

The light, refracting off the diamond of my wedding band, has created a brilliant arc of colours; a rainbow. I suppose it's a good thing I hardly ever wear the band now, though Frank's heart breaks every time he sees that. My sign – Lily's sign – has presented itself.

The corners of my lips return to it's now-usual frown; a problem has presented itself. I still don't want to lose Lily, to forget her. Does this mean that I find a new rainbow, a new splash of colour? But to do that would be to replace Lily, and simply the idea of it repels me. We'd been friends for so long, her and Frank being the sole reason for happiness in my life until Neville.

Frank. Neville. My heart clenches at the thought of them – thoughts that I'd been suppressing ever since the Potters' funeral. I suppose, if there'd been any reason before this to live, it would be them. I would go through the steps of life, trying to be there for them. I never really thought about how this all must be affecting Frank, or rather, I suppose I just didn't care – and how fair was that? A course of guilt rushes through me and I shake my head; I'd had my sign, and now my reason.

I'd live, if simply for Frank, Neville and, indirectly and though she was…dead…Lily. Eventually my rainbow would come back, even if it took time. I would wait, and until then, I must at least pretend to be happy. Just like that other Alice, Alice in wonderland, must have felt when she fell down that rabbit hole; I'd simply fallen, and now it was my turn to get up and look around, examine this new world around me in which Lily no longer existed. I would examine, and I would look.

Yes, that's it; I'm Alice in Wonderland, looking for my Lily, my rainbow.

**---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**By CaramelBoost**

**AN: I'm not too sure about the ending, but… eh. This fic is dedicated to Trisken Leigh because it was her birthday the other day. Happy Birthday, Trisk! –glomps–**


	49. Rudolphus Lestrange

**Disclaimer: All characters, settings and anything else recognizable from Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling, and we make no claim on her ideas.**

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**49. Rudolphus Lestrange**

Rudolphus could sense her fading away from the very beginning.

He had never quite managed to fool himself into believing that she loved him. He knew that the Dark Lord was her first and only love and that he, as her husband, was merely standing in for the Dark Lord until he, in her eyes, finally realized how perfect they could be and accepted her.

Of course, Rudolphus knew otherwise. He'd always been less of an optimist and more of a realist then his wife, but it was both a blessing and a curse. He never feared the Dark Lord taking his place, but he could also never believe she loved him.

And so they would act their way through their days, clinging to each other's memories and depressions in Azkaban, praying, waiting, wishing for it to end.

And so it did. The Dark Lord regained power through old Barty's son, they were told, and they were freed. The mighty walls of Azkaban were knocked down, and they were released into the general public (and yet so separate from them) once more.

Two years went by, with failure after failure, Bellatrix sinking lower and lower in the Dark Lord's eyes while he only gained ground in her's, and Rudolphus could only watch and pretend that his wife's love for their master was only a charade and not the other way around.

Bellatrix had always been so vibrant, gleaming red lips and cheeks, bright beautiful eyes, shimmering skin. Others looked at her and saw only the white of her and skin and the black of her hair and garb. But Rudolphus looked at her and his world lit up, every breath she took, every move she made sent a wave of contentment and a barrage of colors barreling towards him.

But heartbeats and breaths and movements can all stop and colors can fade, as Rudolphus knew only too well. When she died, he didn't notice who killed her. He didn't notice how, he didn't notice the expression on her face as she breathed her last breath or wonder about her last thoughts or feel any sadness at her loss.

All he noticed were that his colors - his lovely, vibrant, beautiful colors - were gone.

As he flees the school, the sky is no longer blue, the trees green, the castle brown. They're all a dead, mournful shade of grey. And suddenly he wonders if this is how everyone else sees the world; everyone who never got to love Bellatrix. Or maybe it's just for everyone who doesn't know her. Or maybe it's not just Bellatrix, and this grey is referred is especially for everyone who never had anyone at all.

And even though he loved her - at least, he assumes he loved her - he does not mourn her loss. He mourns the loss of his rainbow.

* * *

**By Fragile-Strength**


	50. Gellert Grindelwald

**Disclaimer: All characters, settings and anything else recognizable from Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling, and we make no claim on her ideas.**

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**50. Gellert Grindelwald**

**Solo**

The soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tears. John Vance Cheney

It's too cold out here, he thought to himself. Gellert Grindelwald was lying in the grass. He was getting stains on his pants, but he didn't care. Bees were buzzing around him, something that he normally hated, but that didn't warrant thought at the moment. He was just lying there, contemplating life and its random events. At the moment, he was thinking about Albus.

Albus had been torn up when Ariana died. Gellert knew that he was not only consumed by grief but also by guilt, thinking that he might have been the one to kill her in that chaos of a fight. Albus broke that day, and Gellert sensed that he couldn't be a part of their plans anymore, that Gellert would have to carry them out by himself.

Not that Gellert minded. He was used to flying solo. Before Albus, he never had anyone even close to a friend. He was the closest thing that he had ever had to a friend in his whole life. But that was done now. He had seen what friendship did to people and was frankly glad that he had gotten out when he did, before it had turned on him, too. Friendship was often looked on as a good thing, but Gellert knew better. He knew that friends would eventually destroy themselves for each other, and weren't the Deathly Hallows meant to prevent that? No, he couldn't give up his quest for another person, no matter how amazing that person was…

He was awoken from these muses by a single drop of water hitting squarely in the middle of his forehead. He noted with happiness that the clouds overhead had turned dark and threatening, promising a heavy shower. Gellert had always liked the rain: it was one of the many things that he and Albus had in common. They were regarded as magical prodigies, the most brilliant young minds the world had ever seen.

They could have conquered the world together, but Albus didn't want that anymore. That was the first thing he said to him after Ariana died. Gellert didn't see why Albus cared; having Ariana gone was the best thing that could have happened for them, for their plan. Gellert, seeing nothing wrong, had come over to the Dumbledores' house first thing in the morning the next day, like usual. He was met at the door by Aberforth, a sour look on his face as he saw who was at the door.

"Get out of here."

"Abe, let me handle this."

Albus had appeared behind Aberforth, regarding Gellert from the hallway. Gellert tried to gauge Albus's feelings, but his face was surprisingly blank. Albus usually laid his emotions bare, letting the world know exactly what he was thinking. But now he was unreadable.

"What made you think you were welcome here?"

Gellert was shocked by the malice in Albus's voice. This was quickly replaced by confusion as Gellert wondered why he shouldn't be welcome in the Dumbledores' home…

"What are you talking about?" Gellert replied. "I just came over to talk, like I do every day."

"Do you possess even an ounce of tact? A modicum of common sense?" Albus spat. "Did you honestly think that you could just come over here like nothing happened?"

Gellert was honestly bamboozled. "And I repeat, what are you talking about? Did you drink a Babbling Beverage or something?"

Albus had obviously given up on hiding his feelings a long time ago. Gellert watched as his face contorted with anger; Albus had never looked like that, at least not to Gellert's knowledge.

"If you don't know, then it is clear that we can't carry on with our plans. Just looking at you reminds me of….you know what, never mind." Resignation was all over Albus's features as he spoke, piercing Gellert with his eyes so blue they were almost white. "Just get out."

And he shut the door. Gellert stepped back, stunned by what had just happened. What had just happened? Why was Albus reacting like this for something so minor? It was better in the long run, anyway.

He backed down the steps, noting in the back of his mind that it was raining. He ran back to Aunt Batty's as the rain started to fall, his hot tears mixing with the cool droplets. The heavens cried as he rushed through packing, desperate to get away from Albus. He walked across the threshold as a rainbow came out from behind the dark clouds…

It had been three weeks since, and it still pained Gellert to think about all the things they could have done, all they could have accomplished. They could have been great, but Albus let his family drag him down, leaving Gellert flying solo through the clouds.

The more he thought about it, the more it hurt him. Gellert felt something warm running down his cheeks and, raising his hand, was astonished to find tears falling down his face. It was freeing, in a way. After checking to see that no one was around, Gellert gave himself over to this unidentifiable emotion. His body was wracked with sobs as he curled up under the dark clouds, the rain washing over him, cleansing his soul.

Time was lost on him; he just lay there, listening to the water splashing down into the stream nearby. It was a while before he could regain control. He was finally able to just as the rain stopped. Gellert looked into the sky, just as a rainbow materialized across the sky. Just like last time.

* * *

**By xRosePetalx**


	51. Moaning Myrtle

**Disclaimer****: All characters, settings and anything else recognizable from Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling, and we make no claim on her ideas.**

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**51. Moaning Myrtle**

It's all shades of grey now.

I miss the colors you know, its about the only thing I miss about being human. The greens, and the reds, and the blues, and the yellows .

Green was always horrible though, it reminded me to much of them. Those girls who made fun of every move I made, all the rumors and lies, how they snickered behind their hands...

No, green was never that great of a color anyway.

And blue, well blue wasn't anything special either now that I think about it. Sort of like me really. It just reminded me of how pathetic I was. Every time I failed, every time I set myself up for a fall... I was always drowning in the blue blue blue of a ocean I couldn't swim in. With waves of self hate and whirlpools of doubt that brought me deeper and deeper down...

Blue wasn't good either.

Red. Red was rage. Red was blood. Red was my blood, boiling in my veins as day after day, name after name, prank after prank, I'm was made the bud of their jokes. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, why was it ME? Why not some other lonely girl with big glasses and ugly hair? And then I grow mad at myself, why did I always have to act so WEAK! Why couldn't I just stand up for myself, instead of running to the bathroom and crying my eyes out like a little baby?

Red was ruined for me.

But yellow was always nice. Soft, sweet yellow, like sunshine and children laughing. But then again, when I was a child most kids were laughing at me. I was always the joke, the punch line. Being laughed at instead of being laughed with. Yellow reminds me of all the good things that could have been but weren't. All the joyful times I should have had but didn't.

And yellow reminds me of the eyes.

The eyes that simply glowed with the sort of light the made flames look dull. They bore down into every bit of me, my brain, my heart, my soul. And then I wasn't me anymore.

I wasn't just Myrtle, or Myrtle the baby, or Myrtle the little Mudblood geek.

And it scared me.

So I stayed, and its all grey now. The taunting words are still there, its just done by new faces. I still react the same as before, by crying and whining, and moaning on... but its all I do. There's no more emotion, the feelings are muted and it's like I'm watching my death-life through the lenses of glasses that don't really work. It's just dull.

And dull is the color of grey... the color I'll forever stay.

My rainbows of colorful pain are gone.

* * *

**By TrueQueenOfChaos**


	52. Amycus Carrow

**Disclaimer: All characters, settings and anything else recognizable from Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling, and we make no claim on her ideas.

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**

51. Amycus Carrow

The rain thrashed down in torrents.

Alecto Carrow rubbed her hands gleefully. "Brilliant," she smiled, revealing all her crooked, stained-yellow teeth. Her brother, seven-year-old Amycus, shuddered. It was hardly a smile, merely a showing of her filthy teeth, and thin, tapeworm-like lips stretched taut.

Amycus shuffled after his older sister, who was now rummaging around for her broom. "Aha!" she screamed, making Amycus jump. "I've found it!" she pulled out a short, perhaps only two or three feet - a dirt-encrusted thick stick of a broom from a pile of who-knows-what.

Rainy days were the only times their mother let Alecto out to practice flying. Personally, Amycus thought his sister wasn't very good at flying – she had already bashed up four perfectly good brooms – but would never dare tell her that. Not only were the brooms damaged from flying, but also her terrifying tantrums.

"Come on, Amy!" Amycus sighed, but he had no choice. His mother had ordered him to go with Alecto on all her rides, as she turned a bit loony after an accident a year ago. He had to make sure they got back before the sun returned.

"Don't call me Amy!" Amycus shouted, as they sped off on Alecto's stick of a broom into the chilly night. He shivered again – he wished he had remembered to bring a coat.

They swooped through the air, weaving around the tall skyscrapers and over apartment buildings, occasionally banging into a window – Amycus received several bruises but nothing severe. He was thankful – after so many trips, he was still in one piece.

This storm was pretty big, as the huge droplets, seemingly as big as crystal balls, came hurling at him through the air. The thunder roared like a caged lion breaking free, and the lightning slashed through the dark sky like a golden knife. Alecto cackled evilly – adding to the whole sinister effect.

The rainfall gradually slowed to a drizzle, and the dark clouds brightened slightly.

"Er, Lecty?" Amycus stuttered. He was drenched from head to toe, trembling furiously.

"Yes?" she snapped, concentrating on avoiding a particularly tall building. Amycus winced, imagining crashing into the steel-made structure; it would cause a pretty severe bruise. "Shouldn't we be getting back now?"

"Shut up, Amy."

Amycus opened his mouth to retort, but quickly changed his mind after seeing the maniacal look on his sister's face. Her hair was tangled in knots, as usual, but it was also flying across her face in one piece. Bits of food clung to it, stale cheese morsels and the like she had filched from the dumpster. And under the dirty rag of hair, he glimpsed bloodshot crossed eyes, a couple of scars and bruises, and two tapeworms of lips. Her nose, pointy and dark, was oozing with mud-like blood, and as she laughed, it flowed into her open mouth. It stained her teeth scarlet, and she spit it out, showering blood down onto the pavement. It was a grotesque sight.

But the clouds were lightening, it was time to leave before they were seen and given a warning from the Ministry. Still, Alecto steered toward the opposite direction, toward the sea.

The sun was out of the clouds now. Muggles strolled the avenues, and a few curious ones were pointing at the sky, at the strange bird that so looked like two children riding on a stick. But Amycus wasn't paying attention to them. He was busy looking at Alecto's destination – the azure square of a sky above the shining blue sea, staring at the most bright, most brilliant, most wonderful thing he'd ever seen. He could hardly take his eyes off it, yet it blinded him. He hated it and loved it at the same time.

It was just so… Amycus couldn't describe it. All his life all he had seen was the dark, musty corner he and his mom and sister resided in, and the city during rain. Never once had he noticed colors. Now he did, but he was unable to decipher them. It was simply unexplainable. It was something he'd never known before.

"What's that?" he asked, interested, temporarily forgetting who he was talking to.

"What's what?" Alecto's head whipped around, her disgusting hair slapping his cleaner, but still dirt-smudged cheeks.

"That." He pointed to the wondrous arc.

"Stop making up lies, Amy, there's nothing there."

"Don't call me Am-" he automatically replied, but was cut off by a sharp sting on his left cheek. Alecto had jabbed a yellowed, pointed nail into his skin, piercing through so his pure crimson blood flowed freely.

"LIAR! LIAR!" she shrieked. The broom made a sharp turn and they were whizzing back to the corner of a house. "YOU ALWAYS MAKE UP THESE LIES AND EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE THEM! HA! I'M MUCH SMARTER THAN THAT!" she was steering like a madwoman, bumping into all the buildings – bruising them harshly. But she did not feel it, she simply could not feel the pain it issued.

He knew he would never ask Alecto about shiny things again.

They made it home, in one piece, thankfully. Amycus, knowing Alecto's mental condition (though he didn't know why she had it so – she was a perfectly lovely girl when he was just born) decided to ask their mother about the strange, shiny thing he saw in the sky.

He decided on asking her after dinner, as she was happiest then, her stout body satisfied with food and wine. And she needed it today, of all days – Alecto had received a warning from the Ministry of Magic for flying in plain Muggle sight. As the cracked plates were put away, and Alecto was well out of sight, he approached her, "Mum, I saw something strange in the sky today."

"Mhm," she answered absentmindedly, as the china plate crashed to the floor, cracking in half. She picked it up and put it right into the drawer.

"It was shiny and light."

His mother suddenly tensed. The stack of plates she was balancing in her lone remaining hand smashed to the floor, falling to pieces. "Was it colorful?" she asked, shaking visibly.

Amycus wondered why she was trembling so. He guessed 'colorful' sounded about right. "I guess so, Mother."

She sighed, still stressed-looking. "It was a rainbow," she sighed.

"Rain-bow," he repeated, raising his head to look at her. "I like that word."

His mother sighed again, picking up a frying pan from under the faucet. Then, in a single movement, she swung the frying pan over and hit him right over the head. He stared at her dumbly.

"Repeat," she said sternly. "I will never ask about rainbows again."

Dazedly, he wondered vaguely what rainbows were, but obliged. "I will never ask about rainbows again."

"Good," she sighed. "I am so sorry; it just had to be done. Oh dear, this is the last time I'll ever do that! I can't stand it! I had to do it to Alecto as well, can you believe it? Your lovely older sister? She used to be top at school during first year, and she was a good little flyer, had to be on next year's Quidditch team, but she noticed the colors in the sky too, and oh, I had to, I just had to! You have to understand, don't you? Of course you don't understand! One day my husband - your Muggle father - hears a tale about leprechauns and rainbows and off he goes, never to be seen again. Oh," she wailed, wringing her hands, and running from the room.

Amycus stared after her. He wondered vaguely what rainbows were.

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**By Avindara Nirvene**


	53. Hermione Granger

**Disclaimer****: All characters, settings and anything else recognizable from Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling, and we make no claim on her ideas.**

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**53. Hermione Granger  
**

A rainbow will always follow the rain. That's what Mum taught me. I would have been about six at the time, I think. She said that one would always be there, after the rain, just floating in the sky below the clouds, even if I couldn't see it. Mum told me, that even if I couldn't see a rainbow, someone else would be able to.

Sometimes it feels like it has been raining for years, but then I suppose that I couldn't have expected anything less from growing up. Not that rain is a bad thing. In fact, I love the rain. I love to stand outside, and turn my face up to the clouds, and watch as a billion little droplets fall down to earth around me. Mind you, that only works when I remember to _impervious_ my glasses. Otherwise, I am inevitably left staring at water droplets.

Like I said, the rain doesn't bother me in the slightest. What worries me is when the clouds are dark and threatening, and the world is cast into shadow. It seems ominous and terrible, and even though those dark, threatening clouds rarely amass to much, there is enough dark in the world, enough growing threat, enough violence without the rain becoming like that, too.

My favourite sort of rain is a sun-shower. That's probably because I can enjoy the rain and admire the rainbow, all at once. It's my personal equivalent of Sirius getting his cake and eating it too. Remus says that rainbows are traditionally a symbol of hope and rebirth, after the cleansing process of the rain.

I think the world needs more rainbows.

Hermione Granger was known throughout all of wizarding Britain. The fall out of the war saw the liberation of the Light into a new wizarding world, illuminating it in the vibrant colours of happiness, of recovery and of change.

In the grand scheme of all things in life, particularly that of a wizard's life, 18 years of age was not much at all, but Hermione had experienced this liberation, and rejoiced in it. 18 years. It was the build up to Christmas when Hermione had really sat back and thought about the very aspect of the newfound colour of not just the wizarding world, but her own life. Her life before entering Hogwarts was awash with the black and white of the monotony of the muggle world, the sameness and simple-ness of the everyday world of normal pre-Hogwarts existence.

She met the first colour when she was just 11 years old - the red of Gryffindor. The euphoric feeling of being chosen to serve the historic house of Hogwarts rushed through her, and as she approached the table. She remembered the cheering and applause she as she approached the table and her seat) She loved the attention her Sorting earned her. They were applauding for her, for her being chosen to serve their house. Her parents gave her attention, of course - it was natural especially since she was an only child but it felt so different now. So much more vibrant. So much more colourful. She revelled in the excitement, the bubble that had been growing and expanding since she had received her Hogwarts letter just weeks before.

The second colour Hermione had met was not the colour that would be expected, she didn't really know what colour she expected in the first place, but knew that this second one was not it. It was the sickly, gloomy colour orange from Neville's first potion. She remembered it as though it was yesterday. Her potion had been the perfect grey, as always, but Neville's was orange, thick, and bubbling like thick mud. It emitted a stench not nearly so pleasant as the one from her grey potion. Hermione remembered looking up, and, upon seeing Snape glaring daggers at the nervous, shaking boy, hurriedly whispering directions to him as their foreboding potions professor enshrouded their word in more darkness. The potion had been just about corrected by the time the professor reached their table, and both had heaved a heavy sigh of relief, not noticing the faint hint of orange lurking in the bleakness of the grey potion. It was almost like the orange of Neville's mis-made potion offended the bleakness of the world as it leaked over to colour the grey. Even today, that orange potion stayed with her, as it had helped her make one of her very first friends.

Yellow. Now there was a colour that Hermione wasn't fond of at all. Yellow reminded Hermione of the bad things in her life, starting when she first encountered it during their first year. She had been crying in the girls' bathroom, Ron Weasley had insulted her for being smarter than he was just like when she had been in primary school when she was younger, when she saw the world for the bleakness and greyness of what it truly was. Yellow was the colour of the troll's eyes, staring at her as it destroyed the girls bathroom, forcing her to hide underneath the sinks. She had wanted to leave the bathroom, only to be blocked by those horrid, watery yellow eyes. Even seven years later she still had occasional nightmares about those eyes staring at her. Seven years later, she still had the occasional nightmare about those yellow eyes, made even more horrifying as they blended in with another pair of yellow eyes from her second year of school. Both that sickly yellow, both the eyes of a creature who wanted to do her harm, she could bear to remember the colour only by remembering that her two best friends, Harry and Ron, had saved her from it both times. If it hadn't been for the troll and the basilisk, she might not ever have made such friends.

At this points, she had experienced the first three colours of her life. She had been introduced to colours that weren't the black and white of her previous life as a muggle. Even those seven years later she would idly wonder if all muggle-born children went through this change.

Green was always the colour of the opposing team, whether it was in the corridors of the school or out on the Quidditch pitch. The colours of the sly, cunning serpent house - it was Slytherin. It was always the colour of the opposition, even outside of Hogwarts, like when Viktor played in the World Cup it was the colour of the opposing side - the green of the Irish Quidditch team, even the colour of the Avada Kadavra spell.

The colour blue meant many things to many different to people. To some, it was sadness, to others it was calming. To Hermione, blue reminded her of Viktor and when they first met. He had been in the library, hiding in the shadows creating a blue light outline about his being. He looked blue as well and who wouldn't be, with innumerable fan girls following one's being about, giggling, squealing and acting as though they were chickens in a pen house waiting to be fed. It was also the colour of her dress, the shimmering periwinkle that Viktor had bought for her to wear for the occasion. He'd said that she looked pretty, and she felt it for the first time in her fourteen years of her life. She felt pretty. But Ron had hated it, hated her for being with Viktor rather than him and Harry for the night. Regardless of that, she still felt pretty. For this reason alone blue became one of her favourite colours quickly.

Indigo was a hard colour to describe. It was everything that was blue and everything that was purple. To Hermione it represented the time between the Yule Ball and Bill and Fleur's wedding, the time in which she felt the prettiness of the blue dress but longed for something more. The colour represented her worry, her campaigning for House Elf rights, her work, her potions. It was like a the colour of indigo was the merging of all the other colours, leading to the final colour of purple.

Violet. Purple. Lilac. There were many different names for this colour, but this one was the one that she liked most of all. This colour made her feel more complete in the world than blue ever had, because this colour was the one that she wore to Bill and Fleur's wedding. The lilac dress had clung to her in all the right places, and Ron had stood there speechless as she walked about the place, talking to the guests. Harry and Ginny had grown increasingly frustrated with the other boy the further the night went on. Hermione  
had found that a little disconcerting at first, thinking that perhaps she wasn't dressed appropriately, but then he had come over to her, had danced with her, had complimented her. And she felt complete, as a bubble of happiness swelled up inside of her and burst, much like when she had walked to the Gryffindor table on her first night of Hogwarts. The world truly became awash with colour the day of the wedding.

In light of winning the war, the colours of Hermione's life had been even more so emphasised. Like a shinning rainbow, something to be appreciated - to remember forever more. The good colours and the bad, for they would serve as a reminder of the hope, the things worth fighting for in times of the bleakness of life.

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**By RyanKathrynCelia & Avindara Nirvene**


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